Long Journey Home
by Phantom Night Owl
Summary: Two unlikely people forge an alliance and a tentative friendship in the dark days of the Paris Commune. A young ballerina is saved from a horrible fate by a deformed recluse deep in the bowels of the Paris Opera House. Together they overcome the deprivations of war, and Louise must learn to understand the paradox that is Erik. Begins ten years before the events in the book.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N ****Hi everyone! Another story for your reading pleasure (or not, as the case may be). Let me just say up front, that this is **_**not**_** E/C. Sorry to those expecting it, but I hope you give it a shot all the same. Just wanted to get that out of the way. ****T****his fic begins in the dark days of the Paris Commune, a fascinating bit of French history if you're ****interested. Leroux's book touched upon it and so did Kay's.**

**This story will ramble a bit, and gradually lead up to the events in the book and hopefully beyond, but if the interest isn't there, I won't waste my time and yours and I'll wrap it up around ten chapters or so. But it **_**will**_** have an ending...I won't leave unfinished stories behind ****cluttering up the landscape****. **

**Please review. It's the meat and potatoes of any ff writer. You don't want me to starve, do you? One word or a hundred, dear reader, and anything in between...it's your call.**

**We start off with a T-rating, but that may change further into the story. Okay, I'll shut up now :)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing associated with Phantom of the Opera in any way shape or form, except my ongoing interest in its haunting story and characters.**

Paris- 1871

It wasn't the chill and damp air that demoralized her. Nor was it the lack of sunlight for the fifth day straight. The lack of privacy in the cell that she had shared with two other frightened souls was endurable simply for the scant comfort they provided. And now they too were gone- taken away during the endless night of the underground. But none of those things brought her as low as the disappearance of the eyes that she had come to expect. She first saw them not long after she and the others were rounded up on the street- poked and prodded into the unfinished opera house. They had become a beacon to her; something for her troubled mind to latch on to and steady her increasing spiral into utter hopelessness. The last time they had stared fixedly at her, the middle aged factory worker in the cell next to hers was being led away. The man never returned. And neither had the yellow eyes which observed her with an animal-like intensity.

She asked the others if _they_ saw those golden orbs in the dark passage outside the dungeon. The look they gave her, closed her mouth in a hurry. Cosette eyed her worriedly, but Madame Bellard only laughed. Louise thought she was losing her mind.

"Ay, girl. We are all of us seeing things in this Godforsaken hole. Poor Georges won't any longer." The old seamstress turned her head and coughed. "At least he doesn't have to worry anymore about an empty belly." Her look was sly. "Too bad you aren't a more comely wench, mam'selle. It may have spared you for a while longer, I'm thinking. But you're a skinny little thing and plain as brown paper."

Cosette cast a surly glance Claudine's way. "No need to frighten her anymore than she already is. Or me. You don't know that Georges won't come back." She clutched her thin shawl closer and turned to the other girl. "You're tired, Louise. And hungry. That's all. It's causing you to see what isn't there." She stared into the blackness beyond the fitful guttering of torchlight at each end of the chamber. "I don't blame you for seeing things though- maybe it was the devil himself you saw, and this is Hell." She crossed herself and looked up at the ceiling. "Who would believe there's an entire theatre above our heads?"

"It's not so much of a theatre now, if it ever was; it wasn't finished before this insanity, and if peace ever returns to us, they will be weeks cleaning up the blood and offal left behind." Madame Ballard stared into the dark above their heads. "They turned it into a hospital of all things. I heard it said that one wall was stacked high with severed arms and legs."

"You are trying to frighten her again, madame. There is no hospital up there. Why, before we were brought here, the place was already being used to store military goods." She turned to the other girl and exclaimed, "Louie, remember that enormous balloon we saw not long ago? It landed on the opera house roof that day. Wasn't it exciting? Spying on the Prussians someone told us."

Louise nodded tiredly, but her imagination was still stuck on bloody piles of limbs lying about on the marble floors of the grand entrance. She would have been horrified a month ago at such a terrible thing, but she never blinked at this bit of barbarity now. She still believed it was true. She leaned her head against the stone wall, trying to ignore the sharp pinching in her belly. Twice a day they were given a slice of bread each, and a jug of stale water to be shared with their cell mates. Against her will, she thought of the fresh bread and jam she had once eaten and taken for granted, and her mouth watered at the same time her eyes did. She knuckled the tears away, and huddled into herself, drawing her thin knees up to her chin. Maybe she was hallucinating those eyes. An owl maybe, or perhaps a cat. No. As incredible as it seemed, they were human. Of course they were, and she had seen eyes very similar to those, three months past. To her fourteen year old self, it was a lifetime ago.

It had been near the end of January during an icy rain, the roads empty of people. Only the very brave or the very desperate ventured out when the cannon fire began. Most stayed indoors and huddled in their cellars during the heavy Prussian shelling of the city. After hours of pure terror and misery, the bombardment finally ended, and members of the National Guard dodged the smoking rubble left behind. They avoided the carcasses, animal or human foolish enough to be caught in the maelstrom of hellish noise and flesh-rending shrapnel. They evaded the debris of those unlucky enough to have a shell make a direct hit on the home they had once considered safe. The men came down Louise's street with provisions to hand out to the starving citizenry, and her mother had sent her out to get one of the hard to attain packages of food.

"Don't talk to them Louise. Just take the food. They must never know your father was a conscript in the army. If the Communards knew this, they would make life even more miserable for us, if possible." Her face was worn and sad, hardly the pretty young woman her father used to pick up as though she weighed nothing and kiss repeatedly, while her mother clutched his broad shoulders, and feigned indignity with laughing eyes. Louise had watched their playful antics, happy because they were happy. The face looking at her in the harsh light of a winter's day, had aged immeasurably from grief and the madness of the Prussian siege.

She had heeded her mother, and was able to procure a coveted food package for them. That night, she crept out their back door with a few small pieces of bread. If her mother knew she was doing this, there would be hell to pay, for every scrap of food was precious and not to be wasted on a stray. "Here, little cat. Come, come." she crooned. She had discovered the small feline one morning in a corner of their alley. It was like the rest of Paris- dispirited and hungry. She sneaked a meal to it every chance she got, and now the striped cat needed the food more than ever, for she had recently given birth. She told no one about them- pets had become scarce in the city; dogs, cats, and even horses were considered viable sources of food for the starving populace.

She called to the scrawny cat in a soft voice, and looked to the back corner of the alley where she kept her little family in a nest of refuse. A slight noise made her look up, and she sucked in a sharp breath when she gazed into the yellow eyes of a predator beaming down at her. She backed up hurriedly, tripping in her haste to get away and sat down hard in a puddle of icy water. The alley was a dead end, the brick of the next apartment building making up the back wall.

Frightened, she scrambled to her feet, and turned to race into the house, when a chilling voice stopped her. "Wait."

Something in that one soft word gave her pause; that, and the fact that she was struck dumb by what she had seen. She had one hand on the doorknob, but turned without conscious thought, to face those disturbing eyes once more, when voices could be heard from the street out front.

"He came this way, I tell you. We should split up and cover both sides of the road. If we don't catch him soon, there won't be any provisions left." Someone muttered a quiet protest, and the first man snarled at him. "Damn your eyes for an imbecile! He's hit the store room every night this week." He nudged the man standing beside him. "You'll be the next one face down in a ditch if he does it again."

The man spat in the mud, glancing around at the street where people were now drifting out of their homes in their usual hesitant manner. It was the animal instinct for self preservation, inbred in the human race- as though every ten years God decreed a war to test the French mettle to survive. "Renee was strangled. Whatever that thing was, it broke his neck. He spat again, and hefted his weapon. "It _broke _his fucking neck! Give me five minutes alone with the bastard. He'll get both ends of this rifle! That was half the food we had stashed away- he took it practically from under our very noses!"

They stood there indecisively, and Louise could just make them out in the meager light from their kitchen. National Guard soldiers- members of the Commune. She turned and looked into the nocturnal eyes again. Whatever creature was in the alley with her, it was black as pitch and resembled nothing more than a large bird of prey. But it seemed to be waiting for her to call out to the soldiers. _Expecting_ it.

"Louise? Child, what are you doing out here? It's not safe. Come inside."

The soldiers in the street heard her mother and called out to them, "Madame, have you seen anyone around here in the last half hour? Someone suspicious?"

Her mother had stepped out the door, and pulled her daughter toward her. "Suspicious? That could well be half the population of this Godforsaken city. But, no. No, I haven't. Come, Louise." her mother said firmly, and tugged on her arm with more force.

"Mama? Mama..." She couldn't get the words to leave her mouth. She had been intending to call attention to the strange creature in the alley with them, but instead said nothing.

"What about your girl there? Seen anyone, mam'selle? A tall, very thin man. Moves like one of these alley cats. It wasn't more than a half hour ago."

Again she felt the seconds slow down and hang there, everything seeming to hinge on her answer. She could almost feel _his_ eyes scorching the back of her neck, for he was more than likely the man for whom they were searching. Her skin prickled. "No, monsieur. N-No one."

Time righted itself and moved on. Her mother had dragged her into their shabby apartment, and shut the door on the inhospitable night, and the shade hovering silently in the corner.

She hadn't seen him since that winter evening, but she was sure he was here in the cellar with them now. And in the oddest way, staring into those strange eyes gave her comfort. Especially when they came for Claudine Bellard. She turned to Louise and Cosette, a film of greasy sweat on her brow, and her eyes shining with terror.

"Pray for me." she cried in a faint voice. "Oh, but I feel sick..."

"It is merely a few questions, then you'll be released. Answer them honestly and you will be on your way in no time at all." the friendlier of the guards told the frightened woman. Not that anyone believed it.

The two Guardsmen led her away to catcalls and insults from the other inhabitants of the cells- mostly men. Louise cried a few tears for Madame Bellard, even though the woman for the most part had been mean to her. Cold and hungry, she fell into an exhausted doze, only to be awakened by Cosette.

The older girl sat down beside her on the iron cot bolted to the wall. There were only two filthy beds in the narrow cell, and the two girls had shared one. Now they each had their own. "You were crying out, Louie. The dream again?"

Louise nodded wearily and scrubbed at her hollow eyes. "It's this blackness. There's no natural light at all down here," she paused, staring sightless into the dark, "and the catacombs are close to where we are, aren't they?"

"Yes. I-I think so. The dream. What was it about?"

"It's always the same. I'm approaching a room at the end of the hallway and push open the door. I am angry for some reason- I don't know why, but I want to lash out at...at someone. _A__nyone. _Underneath the anger and s-sorrow though, there is a warm feeling like coming home after a long, harrowing day, and knowing I will be...safe and...and cherished. Knowing..." A shiver rippled violently through her, and the other girl rubbed Louise's arms briskly.

"Go on." Cosette prompted softly.

"..._knowing _I will be loved." she said finally. "There is very little light, but enough to see a man in a...a bed, I-I think. I can't see his face because it's in shadow, b-but he's so still, and...and..." She dropped her face into her hands, her voice muffled. "I can't look, I am so frightened of what I will see! But I know it's horrible- I don't want to look." Louise stared up at her friend. "S-Sometimes I'm almost afraid to close my eyes."

Cosette was her best friend, and for the most part they managed to hold each other together, propping one another up when despair chipped away at their tiny bit of optimism. But dreams no longer bothered Cosette; the nightmare was being awake. She comforted the girl as well as she could. "They seem real, don't they? They can't hurt you though. Myself, I take every opportunity to sleep. It gets me away from here when I do."

Louise's eyes were shadowed with fear. "If a time comes when I look at _it__s _face, that is when I will die." she whispered with unshakable conviction. "I know it." She leaned against the wall and regarded her friend with lost hope. "Why are they keeping us? What have we done that is so wrong, except try to stay alive?"

The older girl looked tiredly at her friend. "We're pawns, Louise. That's all this is. Someone, I don't know, maybe a neighbor or...or a shop keeper whispered in somebody's ear, that we were against the Commune. The Republic takes hostages and the Communards answer in kind." Her sigh was harsh. "They think they can get information from us as though we actually know something of value. Just keep us locked up in the cold and dark, then after a few days of watching our cell mates leave, we will cave in." She stared out the bars, feeling numb with cold and fatigue. "And if we weren't entirely innocent, we probably would. At the rate both sides are going, there won't be anyone left in Paris before this madness is over."

She took hold of the girl's icy hand, and stared hard at her. "There's always hope, Louie. You must remember that! They take us away one by one and interrogate us, then..." She shrugged her slender shoulders. "Who knows? Maybe Georges and Madame Bellard...and the others, were exchanged for Republic prisoners. Why, they did exactly that the week before." She held her arms out to the girl. "Come. We can share our body heat to keep warm."

Louise sniffled and wiped her nose on her sleeve. She stared at the dreary cell, clutching her friend tightly, and remembered better days when their worries were simple ones, and dying was an eternity away. Her eyes fluttered shut, exhaustion taking over.

Two days later, Cosette was taken from their cell. Louise stood and watched as her friend was dragged away. They had been led out to the latrines as they were every morning, then fed a meager breakfast on their return. When the guards approached their cell once more, Louise started to tremble, her fear growing with every step closer to the cell that they came. When the husky guard named Luc opened the door and stepped in, both girls as one, backed to the wall, holding tightly to one another.

"You there," he said gesturing to Cosette, "we're takin' another walk. Just a short one. Come." He reached for her, and the girls pressed back into the wall as though wishing ardently to be absorbed into the dank stone.

The second guard joined the first, and the older girl started to unwind her arms from her friend's. Tears in her eyes, she kissed Louise on one dirty cheek and pulled away. "God be with you, L-Louie. I will see you soon." Looking back one last time, she was led away, nearly swallowed between the much larger men.

Devastated, Louise slid to her knees, and put her face against the iron bars. "Please, _please_! Don't hurt her. Her name is Cosette and she has done nothing wrong." Her knuckles ached from grasping the cell door, horrified at how powerless they all were. Sorrow and anger raged within her slight frame.

"Holy Father. I want to sleep now. I want to sleep and dream only good things." She said it over and over, desperately willing herself back in her bed at home. She grasped the bars tighter. Cosette!" she called to the terrified girl, "Cosette, I will pray for your safe return home!"

The other inmates of the cells began their strident cacophony of sound, the fetid air filled with jeers and curses. Louise moaned and slumped against the bars, squeezing her eyes shut. Minutes crawled by, but finally she crept to the back of the cell and huddled there, shivering uncontrollably. She had no more tears.

In the morning, the women were led to the pit latrines as they were twice a day- once in the morning and again in the early evening. The only reliable way to tell the time of day was the changing of their guard, and the dubious care given to the hostages. Louise knew it was early in the morning by the arrival of the surly day guards, who lined the women up to lead them to the latrines. There were six women, and roughly the guards shoved them into a line, even though their was no need for their brutishness. Louise shuffled along with the others and quickly finished up, always self-conscious and embarrassed with the guards close by.

Nearing the dungeon area, she happened to glance up. And just like that, the glowing eyes were there once again, seeming to wink in and out of sight. She slammed her eyes shut, then opened them again. They were still there, and to the young girl, it was like seeing a good friend after a long absence. Tears made tracks through the dirt on her face after an entire night of being alone and scared, grieving for Cosette.

Not wishing to call attention to him, she reluctantly looked away. As they crossed another passage, the rear Guardsman went sprawling to the ground. Louise was suddenly grabbed by the back of her dress and plucked from the rear of the line as neatly as though she weighed nothing at all. She heard her dress rip as she was yanked unceremoniously backward, and automatically began to struggle. Cold hands tightened inexorably on her, and the voice from the alley was hissing into her ear.

"Be still, dreary girl, or they can have you back." She instantly ceased fighting him, not relishing the idea at all.

The two guards rounded up the group of women into a tight circle, and looked in disbelief at their comrade lying on the ground. It was then that they noticed the girl was missing. "She took him by surprise and knocked him out." said one.

"You're a fool, Pascal. That wisp of a girl couldn't have overpowered him even witha cocked gun! He tripped over something and hit his head when he fell. Luc is so damned clumsy I'm amazed he can walk upright half the time. The girl just wandered off somewhere."

"What should we do? Go after her?"

"She could be anywhere, and I'm not looking for her. You go if you want. The only thing we have to do is get these women back to their cells. Forget the damned girl. She won't last very long down here. She'll be wishin' she was back in her cell; there's thieves and cutthroats in this hellhole, and they would love tender new flesh like hers- even bony as she is. A little young for my taste," he said, eying the buxom hostage standing near him, "but female all the same." He turned, and in the feeble light from the lantern, stared at the six women. "Say nothing, you hear?" His voice dripped with menace. "Your food rations could be cut in half- think you're hungry now? Speak of this, and you will find out what hunger truly is."

Luc, by this time was sitting up groggily, holding his bleeding head. "Someone hit me." he mumbled, looking up at the other two men.

Pascal nervously stepped closer to the other guard. "I hate this place. You and I both know it would be easy to disappear down here. It's already happened a time or two. This is Satan's unholy ground."

"More like the Devil's fat ass." Luc touched his forehead gingerly. "Did anyone else see a cat?"

"There's no cat down in this stinkin' armpit! You've been in the dark for too long."

They helped him to his feet, and with a last look over their shoulders, they took the women back to the dungeon.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

He tugged the girl along behind him, only slowing down when she went to her knees, having trouble keeping up with his much longer strides. With bruising fingers, he grasped her wrist and yanked her to her feet. "Please, monsieur."

"I should just leave her here. She's nothing to me, but a spindly little nuisance." he muttered, used to conversing with no one but himself.

"Monsieur?"

He turned and looked at her. He could see her quite clearly, as he surveyed the girl up and down. He had acted out of a rare moment of charitableness. It hadn't been planned on his part- he just happened to be in the side passage when the Guardsmen came through with the women, and didn't think twice about what he was doing. Kindness was not something to which he was familiar- giving or receiving it. It was an uncommon occurrence- her silence that evening in the alley assured his escape, and the unbidden impulse was to pay her back in kind- which he already regretted. He had never spared a thought for anyone but himself.

Louise though, saw nothing but a faint silhouette in the gloom. "Where are you taking me?" she asked him timidly.

He stopped and appeared to be thinking, and she waited patiently, until he turned his lantern-like eyes on her. Standing next to the man, she felt very small and inconsequential, for the feral eyes were far above her. She felt a stirring of fright- she didn't know the man's name or why he had rescued her. For the first time she wondered if this creature whom she had never actually seen, was indeed someone to fear. Was no one safe anymore? she thought wearily.

He never meant to help her; he merely acted on an impulse to free her from the dungeons, for she would have been next to die- questioned for answers she didn't have, and then led to another part of the vast cellars to join a group of equally frightened hostages and shot. His thin lips peeled back from his teeth. They invaded _his_ home, stopped work on the most beautiful house of music in the entire world, and forced him to slink in and out of the mammoth unfinished building to escape detection.

Yes. Where to take her? He only wanted to wash his hands of the girl. He was not a disciple of altruism. Had no wish to be a hero. No. Not at all. "I'll get you out of the theatre, mam'selle, then you may go wherever you like."

She felt relief and trepidation at the same time. Prior to her arrest, she was living on the streets, and lucky to have remained unmolested. "Do you live near the opera house, monsieur?"

He swallowed a laugh. "Close enough." Louise glanced uneasily at him, hearing that deep-throated chuckle which raised the fine hairs on her neck.

As they walked, she wondered about her strange companion. What was he doing in the opera house? Was he there just to free her? "Thank you for what you did. I..."

"Soldiers." he hissed, and grabbed her arm again. Turning neatly around, he quickly reversed direction, tugging her behind him. They had been walking steadily upward, her companion slightly in front and Louise following close behind, when he had thrown an arm out to stop her.

Sure enough, she heard the voices of several men coming their way. The man pulling her along, quickened his steps, and once more she was forced into keeping up with his long legs. They reached a corridor with passages to the left and right; in the right passage, the sounds of shuffling feet could be heard, and her yellow eyed companion veered to the left. "Change of plans, mam'selle. We seem to be surrounded at the moment. You shall be my house guest for a time. As much as I'm certain you do not wish it, I can assure you, neither do I."

Louise couldn't summon a reply for him. She was very busy just trying to stay on her feet. Unfortunately, she had come to expect a life filled with sorrow and woe. This development was merely a wrinkle. At least she wasn't sitting alone in a cell, waiting for her own death. She had no idea what would happen to her- she didn't have any choice in the matter. She said nothing, but let him lead her onward into the darkness.

**Who's with me? Show of hands, please.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N Thanks everyone for the warm welcome and show of hands! A shout-out to grandma paula! Thank you. I hope I can manage to hold your interest :) Last but not least- hello to all you lurkers, lurking- you know who you are! And **_**away **_**we go!**

"I don't think I can take another step, monsieur." She was winded and barely upright, her rescuer now becoming her new jailer, with his bony fingers imprisoning her wrist in a painfully tight grip.

"You will keep walking or get left behind. Would you like that? You will be facing a firing squad if they take you back. It is where the others went, and you will be no different." He spared a glance for her. "It's what happened to the two women in the cell with you- shot and shoved unceremoniously into a ditch. Killing has become an avocation for these cretins, and there is no sign of it ending soon."

He was talking all the while as the two of them put distance between themselves and the Communards. Louise had known all along what became of the others. Of Cosette. Dear God, her poor friend. She was no longer naïve enough to expect last minute interventions. But to have him speak of it in such a cold-hearted manner, made her wonder at his humanity. Or lack of it. She hurriedly swallowed a sob, and concentrated on keeping up with him and his punishing gait.

They came out of the corridor and into a wider area of broken stone which crunched beneath their feet. She caught the dull sheen of water and sucked in a breath. There had been talk of a lake beneath the opera house, but most had merely scoffed at that. He led her to the edge of the water and stopped. To her it looked cold and oily, the ripples appearing like so many wriggling silver and ebony snakes. She shuddered with dread.

"How deep is it?" she whispered anxiously, eying the black surface with misgiving. "I-I can not swim."

He didn't answer her, but once again cursed whatever mad imp had led him to involvement with this tedious girl child. She was quickly proving to be a nuisance. "Stay here and be silent." He dropped her arm and she rubbed where his grip had pinched her. She was tired and hungry, nearly collapsing where she stood, but stopped herself in time. She had no wish to anger her strange companion. She could sense his growing impatience with her, and didn't want to be abandoned to the dark and the mercy of the Communards again.

After a few minutes she heard a slight scraping, and the man returned, pulling a small boat through the water parallel to the edge. "Get in." he said, voice clipped.

She did as told and the man followed, lightly jumping in and pushing off with an oar. He picked up a second oar and began rowing swiftly into the darkness before them. Louise shivered and hugged her arms around her body. She could see his eyes searching the gloom for any movement, and she shuddered again. "I heard tales of a lake down here, but never believed any of them."

He said nothing for a moment, then cut his eyes in her direction. She felt a quiver of fear now when he turned them on her- they were unnatural, and she didn't care for them at all. What had once given her a modicum of comfort in the cell, now made her uneasy.

She had been looking desperately for a sign from anyone- any-_thing _that would prove her not forsaken. She had taken that citrine gaze as proof that she was not alone, but he was oddly invisible to her in the chill dark until she caught a flash from those unholy eyes. Then she felt as though she were moving in a dreamscape, and reality as she knew it, left far behind. Maybe her mind had truly collapsed under the weight of her despair, a petrified Cosette being led away, finally sending her plummeting over the edge. There was another velvet chuckle from him- her ears were also a part of the conspiracy to drive her insane, and they were working very well in this particular nightmare.

Feeling slightly panicky, she tried to get him to speak. His voice was beautiful. Surely he had a handsome face to go with it. His tone though was cold, but she only wished to hear it again. His silence was unnerving to her. "It is very strange, monsieur. Like a tale told to entertain children."

"Erik could tell you _many _strange tales, mam'selle. You would be amazed, I dare say."

"E-Erik?"

He paused in his rowing for a moment, and bowed easily from the waist. "At your service, Mademoiselle- Louise, is it not?"

"Yes. Louise..."

"Well, we are arrived." he smoothly interrupted her, and with a dramatic flair, swept a long arm out. "Welcome to my humble abode." He hopped out of the boat, nimble as any monkey, and tugged the boat toward him. "Out with you, and be quick about it. It doesn't pay to linger much these days, as I'm sure you understand."

She hurriedly left the boat, stumbling as she did so. He made no move to help her. Once again he bade her to wait for him, and pulled the little boat down the edge of the lake until the darkness swallowed him. She stared hard into the inky shadows, trying to penetrate the gloom with no success. She was confused. Home? They hadn't stepped outside; she was certain of that.

When he returned, he grasped her elbow and guided her away from the water, crossing to an area where the shadows disappeared into the perpetual blackness. She wouldn't allow herself to consider how precarious her situation was- into the darkness with a man she wouldn't even recognize in the light of day. A man who saved her from an ignominious death- a death for no other reason than which side she appeared to be on.

Louise was wholly dependent on Erik to guide her- it was difficult to see anything, but he seemed to be completely at ease. Finally to her relief, he halted and she could hear sly movements in the dark. "Enter, young Louise. My home is..._your_ home." Sarcasm came heavy from his lips as he gave her a little nudge forward. She stepped into a room where pale light suddenly flared, and the door closed, shutting them inside and away from any prying eyes. He turned from lighting the wall lamp, and found her staring wide-eyed at him.

"You wear a mask." It was said quietly, almost as if she had instead remarked on his choice of neckwear, which in this case was a navy blue Belcher tie. Her tired mind was trying to process too much information at once; an emaciated man, long limbs seeming to go on endlessly- a scarecrow standing before her wearing a black mask which covered nearly all of his face. It was a macabre sight, and coupled with the fact that his _home _was in the cellars of an opera house, it made her feel even less awake and more like she was moving through a disturbing and vexing dream. Seeking clarity, she viciously pinched herself. It hurt.

Her intention wasn't lost on Erik. Cocking his head, he stared down at her with a knowing smirk. "You are indeed awake. Make no mistake about that."

He needn't have pointed out the obvious to her as she rubbed her bruised arm. Her eyes smarted as they adjusted to the lamp. Although it was soft candlelight, it was more than she was used to, as the flame cast flickering shadows on the stone walls.

Erik said nothing, standing very still as though waiting for her hysterics to begin. "Was it the war?" Louise had seen many men with terrible scars from the fighting around Paris, hiding faces torn apart by shot and shell, many of them missing eyes.

"The war?" He stared at her a moment more, then a laugh exploded out of his mouth, rolling around the room in a gleeful way that had nothing to do with amusement- it sounded half-mad, and she found herself taking a hasty step backward. He saw the movement and the laugh was abruptly silenced, though she swore she could still hear its echo. He observed her from eyes the color of gold coins.

"No, child. Nothing as simple as a war. But the wearer of _this_," and he indicated his mask, "has been engaged in battles because of it his entire life." He chuckled again, then stopped, seeing her dismay. "It is an affliction the Devil bestowed on me, young Louise. God in his infinite wisdom had nothing to do with it. But don't worry," he entreated her, "you will never see Erik's face."

She nodded, not sure of his mood; he was a stranger to her and an odd one at that. "I've never known anyone to live in an opera house before. Do you live alone?" She was edging toward a faded upholstered chair. She was exhausted, and she needed to sit down for a while, but his next words halted her progress.

"You ask too many questions. I would be very careful with that unseemly curiosity of yours." He eyed her as she stood swaying on her feet. "Sit down someplace before you _fall _down. I have to go out, and might be gone for some time."

"May I go with you? I'm very grateful for what you did, but I don't want to intrude on you any longer than necessary."

"I'm afraid you aren't going anywhere. It's far too dangerous. You will have to get used to the idea of living here for a while."

"It wouldn't be too dangerous for me. You can just..."

"Not for you, tiresome girl. I can move around much easier on my own without encumbrances- of which you are one. There are too many people all of a sudden in my domain. I came here to shut out the world- not have it move in with me." Once again, he was truculent and dismissive, proving she walked a fine line with this man, and seemed to veer ever closer to crossing it at her peril.

He tugged a rough workman's cap lower on his forehead and buttoned his coat- one which was worn and becoming threadbare. Quickly, he lit a kerosene lamp and trimmed the wick low. Handing it to her, he narrowed his eyes. "Stay out of my rooms, do you understand?" He pointed to the doorway on the right. There is a water closet just through there. I suggest you make use of soap and water, for you are in dire need of it. But go no further." he warned.

He turned and disappeared out the door. Louise waited a moment, listening closely, and convinced he was gone, stared nonplussed at where she had seen an open door. Before her was nothing but a seamless wooden wall that made up the front of this peculiar home. She ran a hand down the wall and felt nothing but smoothness as she looked for a telltale crack, and finding none, goggled at it until her eyes burned. Finally, in defeat, she turned away. She had exchanged one cell for another.

She gazed curiously around, her fear momentarily forgotten. The room was mostly bare and windowless, containing the floral parlor chair, a rosewood side table, and a green sofa whose nap was nearly bald in places. The walls and floor were rough stone; there was a fireplace with a carved stone mantel, but at the moment, the hearth held only cold ashes. How she wished with all of her heart for the warmth and cheer of a fire. To the right of the fireplace sat a small pile of wood which appeared to be the remnants of a chair. Doorways were to the left and right of the main room. Obviously he had made an effort to make the space into a suitable place to live.

Louise decided this would be a good time to visit the water closet. She emptied her bladder, finishing quickly, then filled a basin with cold water- there was no hot. Spying a small tin of soft soap, she quickly stripped her soiled clothing off, and washed the best she could, her skin pebbling with goosebumps from the icy water. There were no towels, so she used her dress to dry herself. She would have loved to have fresh clothes, but it was a luxury she didn't have anymore. Reluctantly she put on her dirty dress. There was nothing she could do about her hair; it was matted and snarled from days of not feeling a brush through it. And filthy. She tidied up the small room and left it as she found it, her feet taking her across the hall to a partially open door. Holding her breath, she gave it a push and peeked inside.

Her eyes were immediately drawn to the musical notes painted meticulously in black letters on ledger lines round the entire room near the ceiling. All the symbols were there- treble clef, key signature, time signature. She knew it well. It was the Dies Irae- The Day of Wrath. She swallowed and forced her gaze away, noting the iron bedstead in one corner of the room, the bed neatly made and a blanket folded at its foot. A small wooden stand held a half melted candle in a tin holder, and a book using a folded piece of paper, kept its place marked.

The last item of furniture in the room was a kitchen chair, but what caught her eye was what was sitting on it. It was an old violin, its finish worn off on portions of the chin rest and neck. Intrigued, she started toward it, but stopped. She didn't think it would be wise to anger her erstwhile host just yet. He seemed already to be regretting her presence in his home.

She went back to the main room and sat down on the sofa. Drowsy, she stretched out on her side and curled into a ball, closing her eyes. At the least, she was more comfortable now than she'd been in the squalid dungeon cell, but was she any safer? She heaved a ragged sigh and fought to stay awake as she waited for him to return, but before long, sleep pulled her down into its waiting arms.

The sound of the door opening woke her. She sat up, rubbing tiredly at her eyes. Erik walked over to the sofa and stood silently observing her. He was holding a small covered pail, which he held up for her inspection. "Hungry? I have soup. Come and eat some." He indicated the doorway on the left. "The kitchen is just through there."

"Soup? Monsieur, it has been so long since I have tasted something other than stale bread!" Louise jumped up from the sofa and followed him shyly into a plain room holding a small black stove, a scrubbed wooden counter, and a kitchen table with one chair tucked up to it.

He regarded her thoughtfully for a moment. "Yes. It might work very well. That rat's nest of hair will have to go, and a better dress," he muttered, looking her up and down, "then we shall see."

It had occurred to him that he could use the girl. It was only a matter of time before he was caught in his raids against Commune storehouses; in particular, the storerooms above his head. He helped himself to the food stored in the theatre whenever he couldn't find it elsewhere, but he was cautious about taking it so near to his home. If caught, it would not go well for him- they would make certain he was put on display before executing him, and he would rather not be the object of further derision and scorn.

But with the girl he could perhaps bring in a few francs. The idea had come to him as he made his nightly forage for food. It was worth a try, for what else was he to do with her? To let her go would leave him open to arrest if she gave the location of his home away. He shied away from killing her; he was no stranger to death; after all, they had much in common, didn't they? But killing a woman was something he had never done lightly. He continued his careful perusal of her.

"Yes. We must think about it."

Louise didn't care at all for the way he was talking to himself and studying her. She hovered there, eying the pail of soup hungrily, uncertain of him once again.

"Sit down, girl and eat!" She jumped when he barked at her, and dragged her gaze away from the pail to his masked face again, before sitting down at the table. He went to a tall green cabinet, and took out one soup bowl and filled it from the pail. He set it in front of her with a spoon, and watched as she took a bite. Then another. The soup was thin with very few vegetables, and no meat whatsoever, but Louise didn't care. It tasted wonderful.

She looked up at Erik, and remembering her manners, reluctantly set her spoon down. She wasn't a common guttersnipe. "Aren't you eating?"

"No." he said shortly. He observed her as she stared glumly at her nearly empty bowl. He sighed, and poured the rest of the soup into it, and gestured for her to continue, watching as she made the second serving disappear as quickly as the first. He left the room and returned with the wooden chair from his bedchamber and sat down across from her, and unconsciously she leaned away from him. He waited, curbing his impatience until she finished. She used the back of her hand to wipe her mouth, feeling marginally better with something in her belly.

"How long were you in training?" he asked her abruptly.

"Training?"

"Don't be foolish. You know exactly what I'm asking." he replied harshly.

She licked her lips, sad that all the soup was gone, but surprised at his knowledge. "Two years at the Salle Ventadour." She looked up at him curiously. "How did you know?"

"It's fairly obvious to anyone familiar with the corps de ballet. Your stance, the way you walk." He snorted. "Even in the way you place your hands. A petite rat. How delightful." He leaned back in his chair and surveyed her closely. "You must miss it."

To Louise's finely attuned ears, Erik did sound pleased. That was encouraging. "The doors closed when the siege began. Yes, I miss it. Someday I hope to go back and continue, but Cosette...Cosette w-won't be there. She was a student also. Older than me by two years. She was my dear friend and now s-she is gone." She twisted her fingers together, not wishing to cry in front of this man. "She was the last one taken away from our cell."

He continued watching her, and again she was reminded of a large bird of prey. She involuntarily shivered. "Yes, I know. Where is your mother?"

"Dead." Her voice lowered to a whisper. "She was killed when a shell exploded in our street. T-Three months ago."

"And your father? Is he alive?"

She shook her head. "He was conscripted into the army for the defense of the city last year, and...and killed in the fighting atop Montmartre. I was living in the streets with several others after my mama...after..." She took a deep breath. "I was forced out of our apartment by the landlord when she died. I had no money and I...well, I wouldn't d-do what he wanted me to..." She swallowed hard and scrubbed at her eyes. They felt gritty from lack of sleep. "My mama did what she could to keep a roof over our heads, monsieur, but I hated Chaput. He was a dirty, coarse man, and I...I..."

When Erik merely sat and said nothing, she haltingly continued. "W-With no home, a small group of us kept together for safety. It was better than n-nothing, until the day Cosette and I were separated from the rest and brought here. They accused us of supporting the Republic." Louise shook her head violently. "No such thing! My father didn't go willingly into the army. They _made_ him! And...and my mother and I only did what we could to stay alive. The same with Cosette and me. They ruin lives, these...these..."

"Yes, quite." He ignored her outburst. "Do you have any other relatives in the city?"

Stung, she replied tiredly, "No. Only my Tante Maria in Naples. My father was born there. My mama is..._was_ from Marseilles, and was a dancer herself at the old opera in the rue le Peletier, but after she met my father, she gave it up. They married and settled here thinking they could make a better life." Louise smiled bitterly. "It didn't work very well for them, did it?"

Just as he suspected. She had no one. Just like him. And just like him he heard the abject loneliness in her voice, but unlike her, he'd had years of isolation to become used to it- to embrace it. He gave up his relaxed demeanor and leaned forward. "No. It did not." he agreed, looking into her weary hazel eyes.

Her sigh was despondent. "What is to become of me now, I wonder?"

"Perhaps I can help."

"How?"

"You may stay here. With me. You will have a roof over your head- food, such as it is, and my protection. No one will harm you. Safe from Communards _and_ the Republic alike." To his credit, he felt a twinge of regret, but only a little. It didn't last long enough to change his mind.

"I have a business proposition for you."

* * *

><p><strong>Um...I don't think he's talking about opening the very first Mickey D's franchise in Paris. Heh.<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

"A business proposition? What can I do?"

"Consider it training, young Louise, for after all, the ballet is an acting feat. Helping the audience to escape their worthless lives and believe in the story you are conveying through dance, is what will set you apart from the others. If you can bring this off, you are guaranteed a successful career on the stage."

He was making her uneasy with his calm tone, but his eyes said something entirely different. They were eager and alive with some unnamed emotion. "What is it you want me to do?" she repeated with suspicion.

Still, he wouldn't tell her, instead asking, "What do _you_ want. Louise? I mean to say, what would you like to have right this minute?"

Her brow furrowed in thought. "Well, as good as this soup was, I would like more to eat. And...and clean clothes." Excited for the first time in weeks, she played along with him. "A hot cup of tea would be nice, and one of my mother's apple tarts." Her mouth watered at the thought of the buttery confection, almost tasting the apples and cinnamon.

He smiled, and she couldn't say that it was a pleasant sight, even if she couldn't see very much of it. It was a thin mouth, and she guessed correctly that Erik wasn't in the habit of smiling very often. And it showed.

"Are you familiar at all with fishing?"

"Fishing? Of course. One puts bait on a line and tosses it into the water to catch a fish."

"Excellent! Very good. Yes, exactly so."

She flushed at his praise. "You wish for us to go fishing?"

She swore she could hear amusement in his voice, although his mouth was not smiling this time- for which she was grateful.

"In a way," he replied mildly, "only _you_ will be the bait."

Her confusion was evident, and he hastened to explain. "Just hear me out, Louise, if you will." He glanced quickly at her then his eyes slid away. "We give you a good wash," he gestured at her unkempt appearance, and she dropped her eyes from his in shame, "clean you up, so to speak, and put you on the street to lure the uh, _interested _gentlemen into an alley. They will be expecting much more from you, but they will get nothing but lighter pockets. I will make certain they never touch you. You make money, I will make money. Food, such as there is in this wretched city, will be yours, and all the tea I can find for you, although your mother's tarts won't be possible, I'm afraid. And let's not forget clean dresses."

He had uttered the last as though that was all that mattered to her. Her morality traded for a clean dress. She knew there was very little compassion in the world; most human feeling seemed to be of a brutal nature anymore. Through it all though, she had managed to hold on to her innocence. "You are not honorable." she whispered.

Erik's eyes glittered dangerously, and the girl knew she had gone too far. But he merely bowed deeply, mocking her. "Indeed. Well then, let there be honor among thieves, for that is what we are. Are you familiar with a novel called Oliver Twist, by any chance?"

"No."

"No? That's good in a way, because you will be the Artful Dodger to my Fagin, and I'm quite sure you wouldn't care very much for the character. Excellent pickpockets, they were, but you will be more than that- much more."

Louise said nothing. Couldn't. She stared at this man who seemed to feel no compunction leading her into a life of crime. "But why? To steal from people who have very little to begin with seems cruel." Her shock and anger were growing. "I realize that you know nothing about me except what I have told you, b-but I'm not a street walker, by any means." She raised her chin and declared, "I am not going to become one now!"

He leaped to his feet so quickly, she had no time to react. Erik placed both hands on the table in front of her, and leaned down until he was scant inches from her face. "And so you expect me to let you remain here with no compensation for your room and board? Erik does nothing for free, child! You must earn your keep."

His eyes were truly frightening, and she was hard put not to cower in fear. How she ever felt comfort looking into them, escaped her at the moment. He was a very strange man, and a treacherous one at that. One moment he seemed approachable, almost friendly, and in the next breath she was afraid of him. "Please. Just let me go. I promise never to breathe a word about you to anyone! Haven't I already proven that?"

He straightened up, and raked a hand through his dark hair. "This is different. You know where I live now. If enough people are aware of my existence here, they will hunt me down. I _can't _let you go."

"And you can't make me commit a crime either."

"Why did you say nothing to the soldiers that night?" It was said quietly, and such a complete turn around from what they were arguing over, that she wasn't sure how to respond.

She settled for the truth. "I don't know." But that wasn't exactly true. She had seen an appeal in those yellow eyes when he stared at her from the darkness. A plea for her silence, but expecting the opposite. Much like a wretched dog waiting for the painful beating to come, but wanting mercy. She hadn't imagined it- of that she was certain.

He put his arms behind his back, and took a turn around the small room. His bony chin in the air, he stopped and studied the ceiling with great interest. Still not looking at her, he spoke casually. "What were you and your comrades doing on the streets of Paris then, if not trying to survive on what you stole- and from those very same people with whom you feel such empathy?" She opened her mouth to deny it, and he pounced, turning and regarding her with a triumphant glare.

"Do not try and convince me otherwise. Child, I watched you with my own eyes, and I see very well indeed. You and your friend from the dungeons worked a crowd quite well. I applaud your ingenuity in the face of adversity. You, Louise are a survivor. Never be ashamed of how you went about it."

She was caught and knew it. "You _spied _on me?"

He shook his head at that, his lips curling in a derisive smile. "And why would I do that? Those pursuing nefarious activities often find themselves in the same location, Louise. You and your chum were busy picking pockets, and I, the very same." His eyes glinted with humor as her jaw dropped in surprise. "Hard times makes criminals of us all." he sniffed with smug complacency.

"But _where_ were you? I think I would have noticed you lurking if that was true."

"I can hide myself quite well when I wish it," and she heard the bitterness in his voice. "Some have taken exception to my presence- often violently at times." He fixed a stern look on her and reiterated, "Now, once more. Were you not helping yourself to the thin pockets of the Paris citizenry?"

She rubbed tiredly at her eyes. "All right. We did steal a little to get by, but we didn't pick the pockets of the poor. Only those living well. They are easy to spot- so complacent and self-satisfied." she said with venom. " There are lots of those around. We were hungry, and had no wish to prostitute ourselves." She folded her arms across her chest and looked back at him with sullen eyes. "I still don't."

He was back to the table so rapidly, she could only blink. "What part of this conversation is taxing your brain? Didn't I already explain myself to you? You will not become a whore! You are merely the means of delivering the ah..._customer_ to the alley. I will be there waiting. You will exit the location as dewey-eyed and virginal as you were going in."

"Why?" She looked him over carefully; his long and extremely lean body, topped by a head of neatly brushed hair- what there was of it. His clothing which consisted of dark brown suit, moleskin vest and a linen shirt, were worn, but scrupulously clean. The mask- it set him apart from all others, and once again, she felt that odd tug of curiosity to see what it hid. Obviously it was something awful to behold, or he would never have deigned to wear it. But what she knew in the little time they had been acquainted, was the cunning and intelligence that shone from those golden eyes which now bore into hers.

He sighed in exasperation. "Do I really need to explain myself to you?" At her tentative nod, he threw his hands in the air and sat down again. "Very well. Then allow me to do so, you little hypocrite. I have been helping myself to the food packages the Communards have been dispensing to the populace, and selling it to marauders looking to make a profit." At her shocked gasp, he put up a hand. "Spare me, child. I don't want or need your judgmental indignation. I have been used to depending on myself all of my sorry life. No one stepped in to secure _my _comfort and well-being. On the contrary, they always managed to take it away. But I digress. The very last time I hit their storeroom, they were waiting for me."

She made a noise of distress, and he caught it. "Sympathy, Louise? After your disapproval of my morally bankrupt character? Interesting. It will be the first then, ever directed toward yours truly." He gave her another spurious bow. "The trap didn't work; they tried to contain me in the room by sheer numbers, but you know the old adage about a cornered animal, don't you? But it was a close thing. Very close indeed."

Louise was going to ask him about the man he killed, but stopped short. She would rather not remind him of his proclivity for violence. She considered him to be rambling, but kept still, waiting for him to get to the point.

"It would only be a matter of time before one of their traps succeeded. Looking the way I do is a distinct disadvantage, as I tend to stand out in a crowd. It would be a dreary end for me, and I would no doubt be degraded even further by being paraded through the streets before they hanged me- that simply won't do." He cut his eyes at her, and regarded the girl thoughtfully. "Would you think it a fitting end for me?"

She chose not to answer him, and he continued. "These are hard times, and one must do what one can to survive. That is where you come in. You do the ah, legwork, and lure them into the alley where I will be waiting. We have all of Paris in which to ply our trade. We won't attract too much attention to ourselves if we move about the city, and keep away from the theatre. No one need be the wiser. You help me- I help you. Much better, I think than what you had waiting for you, oh..." he fished a battered watch out of his pocket, "a mere six hours ago."

Louise simply sat and stared at him. What he was asking her to do was wrong. But looking at his suddenly shuttered eyes, she knew intuitively that he was not going to let her walk out of here. Perhaps he would kill her if she tried. He had already murdered the Communard soldier, and possibly the dungeon guard. He was no stranger to violence it would seem. He didn't trust her- he didn't trust anyone. Maybe if she pretended to go along with him now she could escape later. After all, what he was asking her to do was no different than what her, Cosette, and the others had done. Survive in a very hostile environment. He said he would protect her, and oddly enough she believed him. As long as she did what she was told. As it stood, her choices at the moment were very limited, and that's why she said, "Yes."

He nearly rubbed his hands in satisfaction. "Very good. We shall begin your education tomorrow." At her look of confusion, he clarified. "Merely how to comport yourself. As the street walkers do. An act, Louise. That's all it is; consider it the stage, and you will do well. It's rather late at the moment and we need you to look your best, although most of the male population in this benighted city wouldn't care all that much one way or the other, I dare say." He motioned her back to the sofa, but before she could oblige him, she asked for a glass of water, which he fetched for her. She drank thirstily, and put the glass in the sink before turning to him.

"Erik, might I have a blanket?" she asked him timidly.

He was about to say something scathing; he wasn't running a hotel, after all. She could very well find her own bedclothes. But he observed her slight form, his eyes traveling to her face, pinched with cold. She was by no means dressed for the chill underground, wearing only a thin dress that had obviously seen better days, and no coat. Silently, he left the room and returned with the folded blanket from his bed. "It would seem that I need a few items for housing a guest." He handed her the blanket, then snuffed the candles, plunging them into darkness. "We must conserve our light source. The city doesn't have enough of anything, including candles." Once again his eyes shone eerily in the darkness. "Sleep well, young Louise."

Thoughtfully she laid down on the sofa, and covered herself as he retired to his room for the night. She rubbed her cheek against the roughness of the blanket, glad for the warmth, and comfortable for the first time in a long while. It occurred to her that Erik might be the one sleepless in the cold of the cellars; she hadn't seen any other blankets lying about. But she was drowsy and fairly warm in this strange home with her equally strange new partner in crime. Her mind shied away from what he was forcing her to do. Just before sleep took her, she recalled the odd glint in Erik's eyes. She wasn't certain of it, she was tired and not seeing very well in the dim light, but perhaps he wasn't _too_ put out at having her here. Maybe in some small way, he even liked it, but she knew him enough now to realize he was a prideful man, and would never admit it.

Much later, sweet music filtered into her subconscious. She was moving gracefully to the violin that was being played with such great skill. She pirouetted en plie, rising onto the balls of her feet, the lovely melody energizing her movements, the only other sounds, the rustling of her tarlaton skirt, and the slight swish of worn slippers on the hard stage floor. The tempo had begun in adagio, dream-like and magical, but the three quarter beat had quickly become allegro and the speed of her dancing feet left her breathless and ready to drop.

"Stop!" she cried. "I have to stop now!" With that last cry she came fully awake, and sat up quickly, her heart beating like a drum.

She could still hear the beautiful music, only now it was mournful and heavy- full of sorrow. Rubbing at her eyes, she listened closely to the haunting melody and slowly relaxed. Tucking the blanket around herself, she closed her eyes, and slept once more as the violin played on.

* * *

><p>"You <em>will <em>wear this mademoiselle, even if I have to force you into it myself. You merely look like a filthy child at the moment; nothing to tempt a man into an alley. Besides, I nearly had a shiv slipped between my ribs by the irate owner of the damned thing!"

Louise stood rosy faced with hands on hips, looking at the very low cut bodice trimmed in black lace he was holding out to her. She well knew where he got the dress- she corrected herself- _stole _it. It was a garment meant to entice and inflame the male senses, and he had lifted it from a brothel somewhere. A common street walker, especially in these dangerous times, wouldn't have the funds to purchase something so elaborate and provocative. Most women left widowed or destitute by the war, would find themselves looking for any means to feed children or themselves. Not much was open to them; selling their bodies required no skill whatsoever and no fancy clothes; just a relatively quiet place to perform their duties with a customer, and hopefully they would get paid for their troubles. All too often though, it led to something else; a brutal beating or death- quite often the customer took his pleasure and refused to pay for it.

Modesty forbade her to wear it, but Erik had other plans. "Put it on, Louise. You can wear a shawl over the blasted thing for all I care, but wear it, you will." She knew by his stance, he was not budging on this. His head was lowered and shoulders pulled forward in that aggressive way he had.

"Very well." she sniffed, and reached for the hated dress. She would have loved to wipe the nasty smirk from his mouth with a resounding slap to the face. If she were brave enough. Louise entered the bath room and hastily undressed. Not wanting the feel of her dirty chemise and petticoat against her skin any longer, she hastily scrubbed her underthings, and with no other place to leave them, draped the sodden garments over the edge of the tub to dry, and slipped into her new dress. "At least this one is cleaner." she muttered to herself, noting how it gaped in the front; she didn't have enough chest to fill it out. Dismally, she spent the next five minutes fighting with the tiny buttons up the back of the bodice. As she worked, twisting and turning, one way then another, she thought about the last two days with her sometimes intractable _host_.

Louise had discovered one thing about Erik. He wasn't just one man- he was several. All of them crowded inside that very spare body. She had met the risk taker that night in the alley. That man seemed to be one step ahead of those trying to track him down. Then there was the heroic Erik; feeling the urge, no matter how small, to return a good deed. She was fairly certain he had not felt that way very often, if ever. But the one that she knew the least about, was the very one that confused her the most. The man who hungered for what others never gave a second thought. Friendship. Not that he actively sought it out with her. On the contrary. He was often taciturn and withdrawn, sometimes so abrupt with her, it bordered on surliness, but then he would perform some small kindness for her, and the veil was pulled aside for a moment.

He had given her the only blanket in the house, and she was grateful, although she should have felt guilty. But after being cold for so long, grateful was the only emotion she could summon. Erik also kept her fed, which was no small feat in the starving city. Only yesterday he had entered the house with two fat sausages to cook. She was curious as to where he had procured them, but as usual with the masked man, he refused to say. Her curiosity angered him.

"You should be glad of the food, you thankless girl! Why must you always interrogate me when I return? Did you eat so very well on the street then?" he sneered. "Are you aware of what some of the restaurants happen to be offering their patrons? Are you? The animals from the zoo are making their way around the city, but not under their own power, Louise."

His masked face was as usual impossible for her to read, but those amber eyes of his regarded her with cold amusement. "Oh no, Louise. Not under their own power. They are served to the diners as the main course, and recently elephant was on Maxine's menu."

She refused to be badgered in this way. "In a city where food is scarce, yes, I _am_ curious." Louise put both hands out palms up, seeking to calm his rising ire. "I am grateful to you, Erik. F-For everything."

Slightly mollified, he proceeded to fry the sausages, and even permitted Louise to fix them a rare cup of tea. Yes, curious man in more ways than one.

Finished with the buttons on her dress, she raised a hand to her face and felt the hollows in her cheeks, stroking with one finger, the fragile bones of a growing girl not getting enough to eat. Her hand then traveled upward to the snarled mass of dull brown hair atop her head, and she cringed. It would take forever to get the tangles out. Perhaps Erik had a comb or brush, and with that thought in mind, she left the bath room and went searching for him.

She approached the one door she had never tried. She opened it hesitantly and peeked into an empty room with stone walls and floor, and not one stick of furniture to declare it a room instead of merely a cave, but her curiosity was aroused when she spied a slim crack of light in the opposite wall. Tiptoeing across the room, she heard the sound of a voice, then a harsh laugh. There was light beyond, but it held a queerness to it, seeming to multiply and repeat itself. Nervously, she crept closer. He had lashed out at her only yesterday for asking him about the musical notes flowing like a black river across the top of the wall. "None of your business." he had replied, and the look in his eyes boded ill for her if she persisted in this.

"Erik?" she called softly. The one sided conversation continued, and she called to him again, only louder this time.

Just before she reached the slight opening, which beckoned to her with a strange allure, he shot through it, and one more glance revealed a blank wall. _How...?_ She was sure there was a room beyond, but her curiosity shriveled away to nothing, when she saw the flash of anger in his eyes. "What do you want?" he said harshly. "You have a decidedly unhealthy habit of going where you haven't been invited. It could get you in..."

The words dried up in his mouth. He took in the red dress, his eyes making the journey without any effort on his part. She was thin, and there were hollows and sharp angles beneath her jaw where more padding should have softened and filled her out. But the bare skin of her decollete, and the short skirt showing off long coltish legs, gave him pause.

"She's just a child." he muttered. "Only a child," but his very male reaction to that tantalizing glimpse of skin, was trying to convince him otherwise. He licked his lips.

"Erik?" She didn't care for the way he was staring at her.

He dragged his gaze from the front of her dress where the bodice gaped open and one small breast had been bared to his view without her knowledge. Feeling shame and an odd yearning, he hastily stepped back from her and into the wall, his head smacking painfully against the unforgiving stone. "Go take that off." he said abruptly, pointing to the dress as he rubbed the back of his head. His eyes refused to meet hers, while a muscle worked furiously in his jaw.

She glanced down open mouthed at the bodice, and hurriedly pulled the front together with both hands, her cheeks afire. "I know it's not very flattering, b-but you said...you, you said..."

"Take it _off_." he snarled, his long fingers curling into fists as he stalked from the room.

"But you were the one insisting I put it _on_." Louise muttered under her breath, staring daggers at his thin back as he sped from the room as though his feet were on fire.

She followed behind him slowly and went to the bath room to change back into her old clothing. With a twinge of regret, she put her dirty dress back on, and decided to keep as quiet as possible while he was in such a peculiar mood, which on further examination, wasn't so very strange after all- for Erik. But she didn't have to worry about his bad humor, for he was gone from the house when she entered the main room. She sighed and sat down on the sofa to wait for him, curling her legs beneath her, trying to warm icy toes. She always became despondent when her feet were cold, and it was particularly so this morning.

After a while, still nervous about his anger, she sprang up and busied herself trying to take out the snarls in her matted hair. It was already much shorter than the mass which used to fall nearly to her waist, but regrettably, she had been forced to shorten it, just to keep it relatively cleaner without benefit of regular washing. She had watched others carefully while on the streets; some had all manner of vermin crawling through their clothes and hair. Most at first, were horrified when they discovered the little pests, the women especially, but being burdened with a need much greater than bugs, it soon led to apathy. It had pained her to do it, but lice and any other freeloaders were kept from taking up a home at her expense. She hitched a breath in misery, wishing with all her heart she was back with her mother in their shoddy apartment, and not living with this man and his odd humors. She cursed when a particularly sharp tug hurt.

"Tsk tsk, Louise. Wherever did you learn such language?" She jumped when she heard him speak, and whirled around in dismay. The masked man stood there, his melodic voice alive with amusement, a brown dress slung over one arm, and a mother-of-pearl brush in his hand. He held it out to her. "This might help with that," and he gestured to her hair.

She took it eagerly from him. "It's just the thing. T-Thank you!" She glanced at him before turning away, to begin working the brush through her hair. A comb would have been more helpful, but anything was better than her fingers. His previous fit of temper was gone, and she was glad of it.

He felt awkward, her delight in the brush pleased him, and he wasn't sure why this was so. He covered it by holding the plain wool dress out as well. "You can't tempt men into the alley looking like a guttersnipe, now, can you?"

What was once gratitude at his gift, turned into something else. With a mixture of embarrassment and rancor she answered him. "I wouldn't know."

He knew from her stiff posture and refusal to look at him, that it had been the wrong thing to say. But what did it matter to him? "Very well then. Change your dress and do something with your hair, then we'll discuss how we are going to proceed. Tomorrow night should be soon enough, if you are amenable. I'm quite sure you have seen street walkers at work, no?" He looked at her for agreement, but Louise wouldn't meet his eyes. "Well?" Erik said sharply.

"Yes." she replied faintly, mortified to think she would be attempting to sell herself.

And by the following evening- she was doing exactly that.


	4. Chapter 4

"Remember what I told you. Do _not_ touch the man in any way. Simply convey your wish to do business with him by the tone of your voice. By the appeal of your, ah- noticeable charms."

As he said this, he glanced skeptically at her slight form, and sighed. Built more like a boy than anything else. Hard on the heels of that thought, the image of her small breast arose before his eyes. His voice harsher than he wished, he imparted a warning to the girl. "Do not even consider the notion of simply walking away. You will not get far if that's what you're contemplating. Erik will find you. Have no doubts on that score, young Louise."

There it was again, she thought. That odd quirk of his. Speaking in the third person as though he were talking about someone else. Louise nervously smoothed her hands down her skirt, saying nothing. The brown wool dress was much warmer than her old one, and the bone rattling chill was lessened somewhat. She wrapped thin arms around herself and walked beside her dark mentor, sending up a quick prayer that her mother would not be a witness to what she was about to do.

"It's only pretend, mama." she whispered, glancing at the night sky. "I am still a good girl. I am..."

"Never doubt it, child. You are merely beyond your capacity to choose anything else at the moment. Allow me to be bad _for _you. I am well versed at it."

She stared up at him, saying nothing. She should have known he would hear her. He always did.

They parted company on the rue D'antin, Erik melting into the early evening shadows, as she slowly approached the man he had pointed out to her. He was well dressed for a city that had practically nothing, and by the look of him, well fed. Elephant, perhaps? She shivered and tried to remember to sway her hips and look alluring; hard to do when one is cold and frightened. The middle-aged man stared at her, then away. He was standing on the street corner, and as she walked toward him, he spared another glance her way.

She took a deep breath. "Company, monsieur? It is a cold night, and two will make it much warmer." She had his complete attention now as he looked her over carefully. Despite the quaver in her voice, she looked him in the eye. "One franc. Surely it will be worth that to you?"

"My, my, but things have become desperate in the city to have a child peddling herself," the man replied, not impressed with what she was trying to sell, "though it's a right good thing I prefer them young." He swept a hand out in front of them. "After you, little love."

Louise couldn't believe it had been this easy, and on timorous feet, led the man to the alley Erik had directed her to. She quickened her steps as the man grew closer to her; she could hear his heavy breathing, and cringed that she was the reason for it. She led him to the darkest corner, the smell of urine and rot wrinkling her nose. She stopped and turned, keeping her distance from him.

"Price, m-my friend. One franc. Agreed?"

He grinned, showing off strong white teeth. "Certainly, little dove, certainly." He reached for the girl, having no intention of giving her one centime for her services. His anticipation grew, along with his lust, but before he could unbutton his trousers, he let out a bleat of dismay and fell over, clawing with desperate fingers at his neck. Seconds later, he was slumped on the filthy cobbles.

"Mon Dieu! Is he dead?"

Erik shook his head, going quickly to one knee. "He's merely unconscious." he told her as he went through the man's pockets. He removed a number of coins, tossing her one. "For your services." He pocketed the rest, and unceremoniously rolled the man into a corner, then straightened up. "Come along, Louise. The night is young."

"How much did he have? It looked like quite a bit, and I only get one franc?" she said indignantly. After all, she was taking the most risk and getting the least out of it. The sight of her mother's disapproving face which had been with her all along, had vanished like smoke in the wind. This was strictly business now.

"I have merely taken this month's room and board out of your share. Didn't we discuss this already?" His glowing eyes had narrowed, and settled on her inquiringly.

"Charging me for something I have no control over, it would seem." she retorted.

He waved a hand languidly. "You have a place to stay, ungrateful, child! Or did you prefer living on the streets so well?" Erik took her by the elbow, and propelled her forward. "Enough of this. Come along. The night doesn't await your pleasure."

Feeling as though he were taking advantage of her- _knowing _he was, she resentfully picked her way out of the alley and headed up the street to the next area he had chosen- the rue Poinsot. Before she left the alley, he had whispered to her in velvety tones. "Carefully, Louise. I will be watching."

* * *

><p>She walked back to the opera house, her hand closed over a small fortune. To her anyway. Twice more she had lured men into an alley, only to have her masked companion intercept them. One moment she was facing a stranger expecting her to hike up her skirts and bend over, when Erik was suddenly there incapacitating him before he could lay a hand, or some other equally unsavory appendage on her. Just as he promised. She wasn't sure how he accomplished it- for now, she was only glad that he did. Her shame and hesitancy had dissipated as the night wore on, and jingling the coins in her hand, she shoved any lingering guilt ruthlessly aside.<p>

To anyone observing the young girl, she appeared to be alone, but Louise knew differently. Her companion (jailor) wasn't far away. For the first time since her mother died, she felt safe on the streets of Paris. She realized the rest of the city was not, with Erik gliding across the landscape. Every once in a while she turned, catching the telltale gleam of golden eyes behind her, and unconsciously quickened her pace.

No one bothered her as the opera house loomed above her in the chilly darkness. Before she had taken many more steps, his voice was speaking softly in her ear. The first time he had done that, she was startled to find him nowhere in sight. Understanding the man, was turning out to be a challenge.

"Follow me, child, and I'll soon have you safely asleep for the remainder of this night. We did well." He cocked his head at her in the dim light of the sickle moon. "_You _did well."

She yawned hugely, strangely pleased at his words, and followed him down into the depths of the cellars, stopping every so often to listen for others moving about on their questionable business. Once they were inside the house beside the lake, she relaxed a bit. It was curious, but she was beginning to think of this place as her home. She wasn't teasing herself into considering Erik to be benevolent, but at the moment, he was the lesser of evils. It _was _better to have a roof over her head and protection from the dangers of a world gone mad. Nevertheless, she felt her unease creeping back in. _But who will protect me from Erik?_

* * *

><p>The next two weeks passed much the same with the masked man pointing out a likely victim, and Louise taking him into a nearby alley or cul de sac to set up the robbery. They had acquired all sorts of spoils from her unwitting <em>customers, <em>which included purses, rings, watches and fobs, with one in particular catching Erik's eye. He showed it to her when they returned home, just before he put it away for keeps. It was a gold medallion fob, with an engraving of the scales of justice. With a deep chuckle, he slipped it into his pocket.

"Imagine if you will. A pair of thieves performing their criminal activities with the scales of justice going along for the ride. That's rich, wouldn't you say? I thought that last mark was acting peculiar. A magistrate, no doubt, and one a little uncomfortable with his illicit foray into the seamy side of Paris." He glanced at her in amusement. "Almost nailed by an officer of the court, Louise. One meets all sorts of people in back streets."

A picture of a blonde haired beauty fascinated Erik. It had resided in a leather purse holding a goodly number of francs, and because the take was so large, he permitted Louise to return home right after. He would stare at it for moments at a time, intrigued by the woman's delicate features, her milk and rose complexion- her perfect nose. Louise thought him silly to show such an interest in a woman who was a complete stranger, and had the temerity to tell him so.

"It's only a picture and has no value." She held out several coins to show him. "Not like these. She's not even that pretty." she muttered when he didn't look up at her.

"You're wrong about that. Beauty and perfection have their own value." he said in a whisper, still studying the unknown woman. "Would that I had even a little of it for myself." He held the photograph up for her inspection. Only look at her, Louise. Isn't she exquisite? A fair haired angel, she is."

"So much of an angel, her husband had to seek me out in an alley." she scoffed.

"Angels don't have to sully themselves with earthly pursuits. Their beauty and goodness are all that's required."

She rolled her eyes dramatically at this bit of nonsense and shrugged. "Your skill with the violin is beautiful, and has far more value than that simpering smile of _hers_." she rejoined. "It won't fade someday and turn old like people do. Notes and melodies are always with us."

He finally looked up at her, and she caught a flash of warmth from those yellow eyes before they hardened. "Taking up philosophizing now, are we?" He slipped the picture into his pocket and stood up. "You really should keep your observations to yourself. I have no wish to hear them." and he grabbed his hat and left her.

They ranged far across the city, never staying in one place, and his plan was going along smoothly until the night everything went horribly wrong.

True to his word, they were eating every day; at least she was- Erik never seemed to require all that much, and left the lion's share for her. Louise had tea twice a day; once in the morning, and a welcome cup when they returned from the streets. She now had two dresses to choose from, both warm wool, and the masked man had presented her with a shawl only two nights before. It was new, never having been worn, and in the prettiest colors of purple, from the deepest wine to the palest lavender, and every shade in between. She loved it so, and draped around her shoulders, she reveled in the added warmth. Where he came by it, she didn't ask, but she was touched by his thoughtfulness all the same.

"Erik! It's so pretty." She rubbed her cheek against its soft folds, and looked shyly up at him. "Thank you. It's just what I needed."

He could only nod his head, her gratitude rendering him mute. No one had ever thanked him before. He noticed for the first time that her face had lost some of its gauntness, and there was more color in her cheeks. Her hair was cleaner now, but the hack job she had performed on it left her locks choppy and uneven, giving her the appearance of a ragtag waif. It didn't quite reach her shoulders and was still a dull brown.

He snorted. She would never be a Helen of Troy, her beauty launching a thousand ships. Beauty was the one thing Erik craved, for he would never have any for himself, and he couldn't help but admire those that did. He patted his coat pocket where the picture of the blonde lady resided. For all that, Louise did possess _some_ charm- the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when something amused her, gave him a tiny jolt of pleasure, and the way her thin face lit up with joy at some small favor, made him want to please her more often.

What she saw as he fixed his gaze on her, was a contemplative look in his eyes, his mouth pulled into a straight line, and she hurriedly began talking about something else. She didn't care at all for the way he sometimes stared at her. Almost as if she were a tasty meal and he was anticipating the first juicy bite.

She had washed after their return from the streets, tired physically, but mentally as well. That night as usual, she enticed the man into an alley and waited for Erik to administer the coup de gras. She had become better at what he required her to do, and felt very little shame anymore. Parisians were dying everyday of hunger and disease. The bombardments by the Prussian army had finally stopped, but the purging of its citizenry by both sides continued. The fact that she remained relatively safe because of her strange companion, only served to make her grateful for what she had, and she refused to lose sleep over it. Once life returned to normal, then she would ask forgiveness of the Holy Father.

Their victim that evening, had grabbed her arm and pulled her closer, intent on some rough groping. Frightened, she attempted to get away from him, but he held on to her. Just as she readied herself to scream, Erik was suddenly there, and as usual, choked the man into unconsciousness with the lasso he had concealed up his sleeve.

The man lay there between them, as her companion went through his pockets for money. Louise watched him open mouthed. "That was a little too close!" she exclaimed.

He continued his task, never sparing her a glance. "You are unharmed. Calm yourself." he said, dismissing her concerns out of hand.

She was fuming by now. "I don't need calming, Erik. The man _touched _me. Where were you?"

"Close by, Louise. I repeat- calm yourself. You are making much out of nothing."

He straightened to his full height and finally looked at her, surreptitiously patting the bottle of wine deep in the pocket of his coat. He had made a short side trip into a well known wine cellar he had frequented before the war. What wine still remained for sale was at an exorbitant amount, and he would not pay it. While the girl talked with their next victim, Erik had manipulated the lock on the door, and slipped inside the darkened shop, perusing it quickly. In record time, he snatched a few bottles of Tokay, his favorite, and was back in the alley to take care of business. It had been months since he drank a decent wine, and he had need for its dulling effects. She would not make him feel guilty for something so trivial.

Their walk back to the opera house that night was quiet, although Erik was never very talkative. Louise was usually the one carrying the conversation, while the masked man merely grunted in reply, but he enjoyed the sound of her voice, having been accustomed for far too long to the silence of his own thoughts. And once his mind became shrill with his cursed memories, her conversation had the power to vanquish them for a time. But she was angry with him and refused to say anything at all. The silent treatment continued into the next day, and he had finally had enough.

They were having a meal of boiled oats and stale bread. Compared to what the majority of Paris was eating, it was a veritable feast. Louise was drinking a cup of tea, while Erik drank his bottle of wine. All of it. Normally he savored it, rolling it around in his mouth and relishing each sip. Because of her continued silence throughout the day, he could feel his ire rising along with the alcohol in his bloodstream. He gulped down the contents of his cup and refilled it again. Louise eyed the half empty bottle with misgiving.

"Do you intend to drink the entire bottle in one sitting? At least eat something."

He leaned back negligently and crossed his legs, regarding her with amusement. "Louise is angry with me. What to do?" He sighed theatrically, and shook his head in mock regret. Sipping from the cup, he wiped his mouth with the back of one pale hand. "You are not very good company tonight, child. Do not presume to tell me how to act," and to prove his point, he again downed the entirety of the cup, watching her through slitted eyes. He examined her closely, noting the gradual filling out of her bodice, his gaze then climbing to the smooth column of her throat. He swallowed hard and upended the rest of the bottle into his cup.

Louise abruptly stood and began clearing the table. "You won't be much use to me if you can't stand up, Erik. You drank the entire bottle. I never took you for a drunkard. Really, what..."

She never got to finish before quick as a snake he was on his feet, and had grasped her arm painfully. "_Drunkard_? What gives you the right for name calling, you little hoyden?" he sneered. And what if Erik wishes to have a glass of wine- or two? It is what civilized humans do of an evening, Louise." He pulled her closer to him and searched her face. "Ah, I see. I'm not what you consider _civilized, _am I? I can see it in your eyes. Not good enough for you, I dare say. Good enough to give you a home, and provide you with food, but not good enough for much else."

She struggled against him and the stink of alcohol fumes which enveloped him as though flowing from every pore, and once more her fear of Erik rose to the fore. She could have pointed out to him that she had all along been a prisoner of his; there simply because he wouldn't let her go. But wisely she kept silent, not wishing to fuel his anger.

"Well? What do you have to say now?"

"You're hurting me." she said quietly, forcing herself to remain calm.

He stared down at her, feeling her trembling, and loosened his hold. He gave her a little push and stepped back. "Get ready. We leave soon."

She rubbed her sore arm where his bony fingers had dug into her flesh, and prepared herself for their evening, all the while keeping one eye on him.

* * *

><p>He led her to the rue Leclerc that night, going further and further from the opera house. She had always felt safe with Erik trailing behind, but tonight he was laboring to keep up with her, all due to his greediness downing an entire bottle of wine in one sitting. His usually lithe movements were absent, instead walking stiff legged as though he needed to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. Louise glanced around from time to time, seeing furtive movements in the darkness, and sensing many eyes on her. They were never alone in their illicit activities; there were a host of others abroad every night with the same thing in mind as they preyed on those foolish enough to be on the streets after dark. She was feeling uneasy about the night's business, and when the masked man spoke softly in her ear, she was greatly relieved.<p>

"Separate them, Louise. Two for the price of one. Take care of them both and we can go home after this." He nodded toward two men standing near a fire burning fitfully in a metal barrel, and tugged his cap lower down on his forehead. He had studied them carefully, judging them mostly harmless and sensing full pockets.

She didn't care for the idea of approaching two men at once, even with Erik waiting for them in the alley. Her unease continued to grow. "Maybe we should keep looking."

"Nonsense. It will be fine," and he pointed to the two men again. "Go on. Do as I say."

His eyes bloodshot and relentless, she sighed heavily and walked toward the men, as one of them dropped another stick of wood in the barrel. A whoosh of sparks rose up, snapping and crackling as the hungry flames licked eagerly at the new fuel. She took a deep breath. "May I join you?" she called, as she sidled up to them. "I need to warm up a little." As one, they turned at the sound of the girl's voice.

"Ah, jeaune fille! Come, come. Join us, and you can whisper in my ear what needs warmed the most." The taller of the two men winked at her, his mouth split in a gloating smirk, and held an arm out to her as she approached them. Louise stopped short.

"Perhaps a little activity right now to heat the blood, would be better- and so much nicer. Over there." she whispered, and fluttered her lashes at him as she indicated the alley, its maw gaping dark and unwelcoming. "One tiny franc and I will be all yours." She glanced over at the other man ogling her, his piggish eyes undressing her. "One at a time, of course." she laughed, her amusement feigned. The only real emotion present was anxiety.

"One franc, it is. And a veritable bargain at that. Allow me to be the first then, ma mie," and he glanced quickly at the other man, who nodded slightly.

"After you." she simpered, and followed behind him, her steps beginning to slow as they grew closer to the alley. Unbeknownst to Louise, the other man followed them in.

* * *

><p>Erik watched her as she approached the two men, and he stepped out of the shadows to take up position in the alley. He still felt resentment at her words from earlier in the evening. Uncalled for, and definitely unwelcome; his head ached from all the wine he had consumed, but he wasn't a drunkard by any means. His steps faltered as he paused against the wall of a nearby building and closed his eyes, taking several deep breaths as he tried to clear his head. Feeling nauseated, he bent over, his hands gripping tightly to his thighs, and concentrated on forcing the contents of his stomach back where they belonged. He had only been there a minute or so when he heard her screams.<p>

His heart gave a nasty jolt, and he stumbled as he took his first step, then broke into a run, a feeling of dread climbing into his throat and lodging there. He noted the absence of both men and his fear increased. Calling himself every vile name he knew, he raced to the alley, murder in his heart and self-loathing spurring him onward.

* * *

><p>Louise stepped into the alley behind the man, her eyes scanning the fetid space for signs of Erik. She didn't see him anywhere, but that in itself meant nothing. Often, she would look up in surprise to see him standing there. The man turned to her and his teeth gleamed in the dark. "Come, little bird. Let's see your charms," and he yanked her pretty shawl away, sliding his fingers into the neck of her dress, and brutally tearing it down the front, baring her to the waist. The soft pattering of the tiny buttons could be heard as they tore free from the bodice and fell about them. He was on her in seconds, forcing her violently to the slick and filthy ground as he fumbled with his trousers.<p>

She screamed in terror, and he backhanded her across the face, splitting her lip, her mouth filling with blood. She thrashed in panic, fighting her attacker as he ground his hips into her, his rancid breath fanning her cheek. To her horror, the other man had joined them and was now pulling her arms roughly above her head. She was slapped again, and a gleaming knife appeared in the first man's hand.

"Stop fighting, you little hell cat, or I'll cut you! I swear I will."

She became still at his words, but when she felt her dress being ripped away and her legs exposed to the cool night air, she fought even harder. She screamed again when her whole world became nothing but excruciating pain, and the edges of her consciousness began to slip away. She never saw the man on top of her dragged backward- never heard the awful sound of his neck snapping. His friend picked up the knife dropped from the dead man's hand, and stumbled away from the relentless force now intently stalking him.

He held the glittering knife out in front of him, waist high, and made a few sharp jabs with it. "Come on then, you bastard! I'll give you a bellyful of this!" the man cried, the knife wobbling in his fist as he began moving backward.

The creature with red eyes growled, and before the other man could blink, was directly in front of him, grasping the hand holding the knife. With hideous strength, Erik bent the man's wrist back, until tendons and bones popped, and the man howled in agony. He forced the wicked blade around until it was pointing at the other man's stomach, and plunged it deeply into his gut, twisting it violently again and again, grunting with the effort, then shoved the lifeless body away from him. "Like that?" he panted, hatred boiling out of him- for them and himself.

Swiftly, he knelt down and surveyed the girl's injuries. "Louise? Forgive me. _Forgive me_...I'm so sorry...so very sorry..." He mindlessly repeated it over and over, hoping on some level she heard him. Completely sober now, he fished his clean handkerchief out of his jacket and wadded it to the stab wound in her shoulder with trembling fingers. He shrugged out of his coat and draped it around her, pulling it close. With gentle hands, he lifted the unconscious girl, cradling her to his narrow chest, and without a single glance backward at the violence he had wrought, carried her urgently back to the theatre.


	5. Chapter 5

He laid the girl gently on his bed, and swiftly gathered the materials he would need to treat her, then carefully peeled back her torn bodice and eased it from her wounded shoulder. He sucked in a harsh breath at the sight of her exposed chest, the tender skin with a faint tracery of blue veins just below the pearly flesh, a startling snow white against the blood still leaking from the stab wound. He took several deep breaths as he tried valiantly to tear his gaze away from the small breast which had popped into his view. The very same one which had peeped so enticingly at him when she wore the whore's dress.

"Hello, my adorable young friend. We meet again." he whispered hoarsely, his prominent Adam's apple bobbing up and down nervously as he swallowed hard. Louise was unmoving, though the steady rise and fall of her chest proved she was merely unconscious. Out cold. She couldn't stop him if he were to... "Get thee behind me, Satan. It is much safer there." he rasped.

His hand itched to stroke that delectable little mound. Very slowly he reached out a finger, and sighed harshly as he pressed it to her cool flesh, stroking the delicate skin reverently. "_Oh_..." he breathed softly through thin lips. "You _are_ delightful- utterly so."

He promised himself one small caress- only one, and allowed his finger to lightly graze the pink nub that rose to meet him. "You _like_ Erik's touch, little one, do you not?" His whisper was husky and eager, yet filled with a surprising tenderness.

His breathing escalated in excitement, fully captivated by the sweet flesh just beneath his hand, until a trickle of her blood pooled against his finger, forcing him back to sanity. He made a sound deep in his throat, horrified at what he was doing, and abruptly withdrew, tugging her ragged bodice back over that tempting bit of female anatomy, and feeling like the worst kind of depraved beast. He was filled with a self-loathing so great he felt as though he would choke on it, and ground his teeth together until his jaws ached. He sucked in a deep breath, determined to put the moment behind him, but he would trot the memory out many times throughout the years- remembering that sweet bit of flesh, so very tempting to a starving man. It was a cherished recollection at a time when there were precious few. Very soon though, he was engrossed in the task at hand, cleaning the gash in her shoulder. Carefully he placed eleven tiny stitches in her skin to close the wound.

She began to stir as he took the last two, and hurriedly finished, tucking the blanket around her before standing up and fetching the tincture he always kept on hand. He watched her silently for a moment. Small and vulnerable. She looked so much like the child that she actually was, he again felt the shame of forcing her into thievery and putting her at risk. He sat down beside his bed and leaned over her.

She fought the weight holding her down, the pain forcing a groan past her lips. The agony climbed higher, its sharp teeth biting into her flesh, giving her no respite. Louise started to cry, wishing for nothing more than the surcease of torment as she tossed and turned finding no comfort anywhere. A cup was held to her mouth and a low voice coaxed her to swallow its contents, the taste vile, even masked as it was by something sweet. She fought weakly to escape those confining hands, which forced her to drink, but his will was greater than hers and soon the cup was empty.

A cool hand settled on her forehead and she flinched from the chill of it. She heard a lilting voice singing softly, the very beauty of it forcing more tears from her. Gradually she relaxed back onto the pillow feeling exhausted, but the pain had eased somewhat as the lovely voice sang on. A frown marred her brow as she tried to remember where she had heard it before.

"It's so beautiful." she whispered. "So very beautiful." It finally occurred to her that the extraordinary voice she listened to now was the archangel Gabriel. She was dead and God's angel was with her, giving her comfort- she felt no sadness, only peace from the liquid tones surrounding her. She would see her mother and father again.

Suddenly she thought of Erik- he had abandoned her to the two men in the alley. They attacked her, and _he_ forgot his promise to keep her safe. "You killed me." she whispered. The words were no sooner spoken, when his eyes appeared before her, the amber irises soft and filled with concern. She could almost believe they held tenderness for her as well. Her eyes refused to remain open and drifted closed, the lashes appearing sooty against her pale skin. Erik was here?

"Are you dead too?" The magnificent voice sputtered to a halt, and the gentle hand moved to her cheek. Gratefully she leaned into it, finding comfort in that icy touch.

"You're not dead, child. Never think that. Hurt, but nowhere near fatally. Open your eyes, Louise."

He remained bent over her as she lay on his bed fighting to return to full consciousness. Her lashes fluttered, and he willed her to open them. Her small hand was swallowed in his as he stared at her face drawn with pain. His fault. He would never forgive himself for allowing this to happen. He had let her down in the worst way possible, and he would be surprised if she didn't hate him now. Louise was nearly raped and murdered; if he had been any slower, she would have been. He had no excuse for his lapse in judgment; protecting the girl from the very people they were duping, had been his obligation to her and he had failed miserably at it.

The nightmares that plagued him for years had begun again, and he tried shutting them out with alcohol. Deadening his memories with wine had been his only goal. The girl had faded from his thoughts as the night wore on, leaving her alone and vulnerable to the men in the alley. He had sought to numb his emotions with the Tokay, and Louise paid for the privilege. For Erik, there would always come a time when he needed to forget for a while just to remain relatively sane. The rosy hours. Oh, yes. Those especially.

But he would remember his place from now on, and do what he had promised her from the beginning, instead of leaving her to the savage treatment of brutish louts like the ones he left dead behind him. She had bled copiously, and he had run through the blighted streets with his burden, imploring the unconscious girl to forgive him.

He set the cup on the floor and straightened up to find her staring at him owl eyed. "What was _that_?" she grimaced, wincing from the pain in her cut lip, her eyes large in a wan face. Her cheek and jaw were a bruised purple, and Erik once again felt his culpability for her injuries.

"It's something I learned to make years ago. It has herbs I've found work very well in most cases. Shepherd's purse for one. It controls excessive bleeding. Valerian root is another I use quite often- for pain." His lips curved in a rare smile. "Tastes nasty, doesn't it?"

She nodded tiredly and looked about her. "Why am I in your bed?"

He shrugged. "Why not?"

"Was that you I heard singing?" She put a finger lightly to her swollen lip and winced at the pain. "You sounded like an angel."

Erik nodded and looked away. _Angel, indeed._ "Louise..." He stared morosely at the floor, uncomfortable with admitting he was wrong. "Louise, I should never have left you alone like that. I have no excuse..." He forced himself to meet her eyes. "I sometimes have trouble sleeping; it's actually rare for me to sleep longer than a few hours, but I..."

"It's because of the nightmares, isn't it?" she said quietly.

He looked at her in surprise. "Yes. How...?"

"I hear you from time to time- you cry out in your sleep. I have bad dreams too. One in particular that I..." She stopped, not wishing to tell him about her recurring nightmare. "Those m-men... Are they...dead?" Louise swallowed hard, not certain what she wanted the answer to be.

He gave her the truth, mortified that she had heard him in the throes of his terrifying dreams. "Yes."

"Oh."

"Do not lose sleep over those who cared nothing for you. They would have killed you and not given it a second thought."

She turned her head away and stared at the Dies Irae high on the wall. "You weren't there." she said in a low voice. "You promised they would never touch me. You _promised_." she whispered, her eyes welling with tears. "You broke your word."

He shook his head. "Heap your abuse on my head, child. I deserve it, but have a care." he warned. "I may be a monster in your eyes, but I'm not quite the same as they. I do have some constraints." He sighed deeply and stood up to leave. "Can you manage a cup of tea? I'll fix it for you. In the meantime, rest a while."

"Erik?"

"Yes?" He stiffened his spine, waiting for more of her well earned scorn.

"I don't think you're a monster." she said softly and closed her eyes.

He hesitated momentarily, "Oh, but I am, Louise. Most assuredly I am." he murmured, and left the room to get her tea.

* * *

><p>She spent a few very uncomfortable days in bed, but because she was young and healthy, by her third day she was well enough to get up. She had become restless and quarrelsome, lashing out at him for no better reason than his refusal to let her get out of bed. He could sympathize, for he was never one to remain still for very long unless he was reading or writing music.<p>

She was surprised that Erik complained very little during his care of her. Occasionally she caught him muttering to himself and heaving exasperated sighs, but his hands were always gentle when he examined her wound and changed the dressing. He even provided her with one of his shirts to cover herself with while she convalesced. He was adamant that she keep everything well hidden while he tended to her wound, and she was touched by his modesty on her behalf. Her second day in bed, Erik made a trip above for provisions. Louise lay there, her shoulder throbbing; he had changed the bandage before he left, studying his stitch work and proclaiming the wound to be healing nicely.

She was grateful for his solicitude, but she wasn't sure if she would ever trust him again. She snorted. It was because of him that she was in this predicament in the first place. Truth be told, Erik was too leaky a vessel to put her faith in; his moods could run the gamut in just one day, but she would give the devil his due. He was trying his best to make it up to her, and she admitted one thing about him- he was a very capable man when he wished to be.

She had been dozing when he returned with some food, candles, and a newspaper. After he brought Louise some dinner, he sat and read aloud from the republican paper, Le Rappel, giving her the news of the ongoing hostilities- in particular the destruction of the Vendome Column honoring the victories of Napolean at the battle of Austerlitz.

"On April sixteenth, they toppled it, Louise- all one hundred forty-four feet of it." He shook his head. "You should have seen it. It's in three pieces and an ignoble end for the emperor if I ever saw one- he looked like any other body lying haphazardly in the street."

"I don't understand, Erik. What was the purpose in it?"

"Because they can, child. That's reason enough for their ilk." He sighed, and ran a hand through his sparse hair. "I fear it will only get uglier as time goes on. Neither side is budging on these reprisals and more die every day. I even came across barrels of gunpowder being carried to an area just below where we now sit."

He put up a hand at her look of fear. "It's all right. We no longer have to worry about the Prussians at least. They have withdrawn from the bloated carcass of this city, and the shelling thankfully has ended. We have that much at least, so don't worry," though secretly he did. He had seen for himself barrel upon barrel carried into the chamber- enough to destroy the opera house and a good chunk of Paris besides.

Once she was done eating, he cleared away the plate and sat back down on the kitchen chair, pulling it closer to the bed. Louise watched him expectantly. Gruffly, he cleared his throat. "Louise, about your shawl..."

"You didn't find it, did you?" she huffed irritably, mourning the beautiful bit of warmth she'd been privileged to wrap herself in for such a short while. "It was the only nice thing I owned." He nearly laughed when her lower lip pooched out in ill-temper, but wisely refrained from doing so.

He shook his head. "I went back to the alley, but it was gone. Someone else got to it before I did." He didn't tell her how the bodies of the two men had also been stripped of anything of value, along with their clothing. The sight of the naked corpses surrounded by rats nibbling on their cold, gray flesh hadn't fazed him in the least, but he would not burden her young ears with it. He cursed himself as she dropped her eyes from his, for he had caught the disappointment in them. Disappointment in _him. _He would question himself later as to why that fact bothered him.

Slowly he put the tip of his finger under her chin and tilted her head up to meet his gaze. "Would you like to see some magic as a special treat?"

She stared into the yellow depths of his eyes, and once again she saw the pleading look she would sometimes catch there. Someone expecting the worst, but hoping for the best- perhaps even a kind word. For some strange reason, seeing it always made her want to cry. She realized for the first time, how difficult his life must have been. How hard it must still be.

Trying to rise above her low spirits, she gamely replied. "Magic?" She nodded and sat up a little straighter.

He released a pent up breath and held out his hands, palms up and fingers extended. "See anything, Louise?" He turned them over and back again showing her they were empty. "Anything at all?" and he waggled his fingers.

She leaned forward and studied his hands. "Nothing." she confirmed.

"Excellent!" He closed them both into fists, then slowly opened them to reveal a small bar of Swiss chocolate nestled in each palm.

"Oh!" Precious gems wouldn't have excited her half as much as those small bits of chocolate did. She stared with hungry eyes at them, her mouth already watering in anticipation.

"You really must eat me first. I have a much richer taste by far than that insipid blob over there!"

Louise squealed in surprise at the mature, motherly voice issuing from the piece of dark chocolate resting in Erik's left palm. She looked at him with shining eyes. "How...?"

"How, you ask?" replied the white chocolate sitting innocently in his other hand. "Why, magic, of course. Simply that." it said in light girlish tones, reminiscent of Cosette. "But I must tell you that my taste is sweeter by far than that bitter old harridan over there."

Louise laughed in delight at this clever bit of legerdemain and clapped her hands, wincing at the sudden flare of pain in her shoulder. "Bravo! _Now_ will you tell me how you talk without moving your lips? _And _how you made them speak in different voices?"

He shook his head. "I'm afraid I can't. Magicians guard those secrets with their very lives, you see." He reached for her hand, only hesitating for a moment, and placed the chocolate bars in her palm, gently closing her fingers over them. "Eat them before you drool all over my bed, silly girl."

Louise looked up at him in awe. "You really are a magician."

He watched her face, ridiculously pleased with her reaction. He would get her more chocolate if he had to go clear to Montmartre to get it.

She shoved the too long sleeves of Erik's shirt further up her arms, and unwrapped the dark chocolate bar, staring at it. "I almost feel like a cannibal now after listening to them talk," she quipped, grinning up at him, but nevertheless took a small bite. She closed her eyes in delight as it melted on her tongue. It was the best thing she'd ever tasted and promised herself to save the other for the next day. She glanced up at Erik. "Thank you." she whispered. Her resentment toward him wasn't gone by any means, but her anger died a little more. He wasn't entirely forgiven, but his gentle care of her had gone a long way in softening her acrimony.

* * *

><p>Louise, a blanket draped across her shoulders, walked carefully into the parlor and found Erik kneeling in front of the fireplace feeding it the last of the chair pieces. It was always cold in the cellars, regardless of the weather above. In this case it was a mild day at the tail end of April, the sun beginning to carry more warmth with it, but it had little affect on those beneath the theatre.<p>

The fire caught and was soon a cheery orange glow as she walked over to it and held her hands out to the welcome heat. Erik stood up and dusted his hands. "It's good to see you up and about again. Just don't overdo it, all right? The wound is still healing."

She nodded and turned around to face him, presenting her backside to the heat. To Erik, she looked like a contented house cat, practically purring in her enjoyment. He would have to build more fires for her. He eyed his few pieces of furniture speculatively.

"I once had a nice coal fire every single day to warm these rooms." he lamented. "There's hardly a stick of wood left in the city, let alone a good supply of coal." He snorted in disgust. "Nothing gets in, and very little gets out."

Louise had often wondered about his residency under the opera, and although he was still not very loquacious at times, ever since the events in the alley, Erik had warmed to her a trifle more. "How did you come to live here in the first place? Didn't the workers notice you at all?"

"They noticed me. How could they not? I was one of them, Louise." he said quietly. "I was here when they broke ground for the building."

This revelation startled her. "You _built_ this place?"

"Not single handed, but I sub-contracted for the foundation." he said in amusement. "I came by looking for work when they first started. They ran into a problem nearly from the start with marshy ground that wouldn't drain properly, and the work crew wasn't sure how to proceed. I merely showed them how and was hired on the spot."

"But how did you end up _living _down here?"

"Charles Garnier gave me leave to live in the cellars, Louise. He alone, well, besides you, knows that I reside here." At her puzzled look, he explained. "The designers and contractors would have figured it out eventually, but Garnier was on a tight schedule to please the emperor. I explained to him that he needed a double foundation and a way of retaining the water- hence the lake."

Louise tamped down her impatience, for she'd had conversations such as these with Erik before. Eventually she would have her answer- in a roundabout fashion. "So he gave you a job building the foundations?" She looked at the masked man with growing respect.

He nodded. That and others. I was young, but I had letters of commendation from other job sites. I built homes for a living for a few years, but aside from my credentials, he was smart enough to realize that what I was telling him made sense. He's a great man, child. One of the best, but he left here sick, I heard. He was able to get out before the Prussians tightened their grip on the city. The siege weakened many from hunger and disease."

"He will come back, won't he? It's not finished."

Erik shrugged and sat down on the sofa. "Sit, Louise. I don't know, but I have often wondered that myself. There's much left to do and I fear what is ahead. As I told you, he gave me leave to make this my home. He liked the idea of a...a _caretaker_ in his opera house." His eyes glittered strangely, and he thrust his bony chin out. In _my _opera house." He eyed her intently. "May I tell you something?"

Louise watched him as he talked. He loved this mammoth building. She nodded, curious as to what put the eager light in his eyes.

"Years ago I began writing an opera. It's nowhere near completion, but I can't work on it for very long. Someday I hope to return to it and when I do, I will have a pipe organ for my own use, right here in this house."

"Are you working on it now?" The idea of Erik composing his own music intrigued her. She knew he had great musical talent. His skill on the violin was proof of that.

He shook his head. "Sometimes it is all I _can_ do, but the music burns, child. I must stop or it will consume me. It's been two years since I did any real work on it."

"But why here, Erik?" she said as she threw her hands out to encompass the gloomy corners, the absence of daylight, and the chill which always pervaded the stale air. "You have such talent! I've heard the violin. You are wonderful! Why?"

"Why?" he sneered. "Well, _why_ do you think I wear this?" and he flicked a finger at the black mask almost with contempt. "Do you not think that if I were handsome I would flaunt my male beauty, instead of hiding it?" He surged to his feet and took a turn around the room, his usually graceful movements, choppy and excited.

"I was done with the world, Louise. And it had no particular problem seeing the back of me, I dare say. They tried to stop my breath many times, but I refused that dubious honor." He snorted in disgust. "Even those I worked with on this theatre couldn't abide me." He turned and faced her, and she realized he was working himself into a rage.

She gathered her courage together as he eyed her with distaste and she tried to placate him. "_I_ like you." she whispered. She realized it was the truth. As different as he often was, she found him to be essentially a compassionate man. She smiled to herself. Albeit one with many painfully sharp edges.

"If I were to remove this mask, you would kick up your heels and run for your life." His eyes blazed with a scorching inner light. "The female of the species requires regular features and a noble brow. Of which I have none. You are no different, so do not pretend that you are."

Erik wasn't buying her declaration just yet. He seemed to argue against any kind of friendship, and again she was reminded of a dog whipped too many times. She regarded his long limbs and killing hands- the feral gleam of knowing eyes. The mask. It was no wonder others skirted around him. Who would have the audacity to try and befriend an enigma?

_She _would.


	6. Chapter 6

For a few days Louise tiptoed around the masked man after making several attempts at conversation, which were initially rebuffed. She could hear the violin behind the closed door of the empty room, mournful and pedantic. In an unspoken agreement, Erik had given up his bedchamber for her use, and after thanking him any number of times, he grew tired of her gratitude, and waspishly insisted she leave off. But having a little privacy again, more than made up for his ill-temper. While still recovering, and ensconced in his bed, she had asked him about the Dies Irae marching in cadence around the room.

He had regarded her dispassionately as he set a breakfast tray on her lap. It was meager fare, a cup of tea and a thin slice of stale bread; lunch would consist of the same, and a thin soup or watery gruel would usually comprise their supper. Hunger was never far away, but he was managing to find enough to keep them both alive. Food was becoming even more scarce if that was possible, and Erik was spending more of his time in search of it. Often it turned into a foot race which he ultimately won, but a few times it had been a very close thing when the pursuer was young and fit.

The girl was unaware of some of the exotic meat which made it into the soups and stews with which he provided her. Erik hadn't sunk so low as to consider putting rat on the menu just yet, but if the status quo continued much longer, it would be. Restaurants such as Maxine's and Le Grand Lefour in the Palais Royal were still serving customers who had the money, which most did not. He made a few trips to each of them; the last where he pilfered some kangaroo meat, courtesy of the zoo, and the chase was on. The dearth of food produced a new sort of Parisian; one more than willing to run him down for a bit of bread or a few wilted vegetables. They never caught him, for if they had, stolen food would be the least of their worries.

He straightened up, shoving both hands in his pockets and thoughtfully regarded the cave-like room before answering her. "This is where I will meet eternity, Louise. My remains will never reside anywhere else, let alone receive mourners to pay their respects." He shook his head and stared pensively at the black musical notes high on the walls. "It is my requiem, and the music will surround me always." He cocked his head at her, amused by her troubled reaction, for she had struggled to sit up, and her distress at his words was plain to see. He could read her emotions very well. "_I_ find comfort in that, don't you?"

She stared aghast at him. "This room will be your burial chamber?"

He shrugged. "Of course it will. Where else would it be? Need I remind you that these cellars are the final resting place of your friend?"

She took a sip of her tea and looked as though she had swallowed something bitter. "No, I know they are." she said quietly. "But _you_ don't have to be buried in anything other than hallowed ground, Erik. Someday this will all be over, and we will have our lives back again, and when we do, I intend to buy masses for Cosette's soul."

"Very noble of you, I'm sure." Louise glanced at him suspiciously, almost certain he was mocking her. "But this is my home, unlike your friend. I have no reason to be buried in a fancy hole in the ground, for I am already in one," he said blandly, glancing up at the ceiling far above their heads, "and you may ask what my headstone will be. And I shall tell you, curious child. It will read Academie Nationale de Musique, what else!" and Louise cringed when he began to laugh in that way he had which was anything but amusing.

"You cannot mean to live here for the rest of your life!" She was horrified at the thought of anyone ending their days unshriven in this pit beneath the earth. You go above now and approach people. Why not live among them in the sun and fresh air? Have windows to look out upon green grass and...and flowers?"

He snorted and rocked on the balls of his feet, surveying her with scorn. "No and no. The longer I stay in the light, the easier it is for people to decide I'm not fit to share it. I have tried, Louise. Trust me, they can think of only one way to deal with me in the end." His mouth had become a grim slash. "Send it back to Hell where it belongs. No, I don't need any of that, nor do I want it anymore."

She didn't know how to answer him. Louise's young heart felt sorry for him, his loneliness palpable even if he vigorously denied it. "Someday I'm going to have my own little house and I'll grow all sorts of flowers." Thinking of a day when she would have lots to eat and the ability to walk safely in the sunlight, became a lovely game. "Yes, I'll grow all kinds of flowers- nasturtiums and hollyhocks. Daffodils and...and roses! Lots and lots of roses- every color possible."

She licked the crumbs off of her lips, warming to her subject, her sudden smile incongruous against her bruised face. "You can come and visit me, Erik. We will have tea and croissants in my garden, and I'll give you baskets of flowers to take home, and y-you'll have rainbows in all of your rooms! And I will dance again. I will! I'll be the prima ballerina and you can watch me as I become Giselle and die from a broken heart for love of my duke."

"Yes, and if wishes were horses, beggars would ride, Louise. You are much too innocent to be believed. After everything that has happened to you, you still think like a gullible child."

He said it with spite, and her easy grin disappeared in an instant. Glumly she had to agree with him. There seemed to be no ending to the misery in their world. Quickly she dropped the subject.

* * *

><p>Late May saw a return of drenching rains and a rumor of the French army ready to enter Paris and put an end to the insurrection. Below the opera, Louise's shoulder was nearly healed. There would be a scar, but with Erik's careful cleaning of the wound and neat stitching, it would be minimal. The contusions on her face had gone from purple to a bilious yellow, finally fading away altogether- the memories of that night would not.<p>

She was becoming restless, wanting to see the sky again and feel the wind on her face- breathe fresh air. She waited impatiently for Erik to return one evening. He no longer wished for her to accompany him, deeming it too dangerous for her, and she only just managed to keep her mouth closed. Isn't that what she had told him all along? But to point that fact out to him, in light of his mercurial moods, would be a foolish move on her part. In any case, her days as a streetwalker were over.

Louise once again tackled the front door, searching for a way to get it open. Every time he left for an extended period of time, she studied the door carefully, looking for that elusive way out. Where there should have been a doorknob, was absolute smoothness as though it was merely a part of the wall. Just like the wall in the empty room, which also contained a door. She was sure of it, but how...? She stood regarding it, chewing her thumb nail, then reached up and ran her hand over it, looking for a protrusion no matter how slight. Before she got very far, however, it opened.

She let out a gasp, and hurriedly turned, sprinting across the room to the fireplace. Schooling her features, she smiled at Erik as he came through the door. He was soaked to the skin, and besides being dripping wet and muddy, he was furious. After two months of living in the cellars with him, she was learning to interpret the emotion swimming in those yellow eyes of his; even the set of his mouth could reveal his mood to her. He looked away, walking stiffly to the kitchen and dropped a small package unceremoniously onto the table where it plopped wetly.

"This building is crawling with Communard soldiers. The streets are the same, and finding any food in this lunatic asylum is out of the question at the moment. Except for this," and he jerked his bony chin at the soggy parcel. He finally turned to her and his eyes were alight with his agitation. "The French army has breached the ramparts and they are fighting street to street now. General Delacluze was shot to death as he stood atop a barricade in the Place du Chateau-d'Eau." He rubbed tiredly at his jaw. "That has put the Commune in a bit of disarray, but they still managed to fire the Tuileries Palace- the destructive sods."

She followed him into the kitchen and he stabbed a long finger at the small package leaking blood onto the table. "This must have been a dear member of the family once. They chased me through several streets and barricades to get it back."

He winced in pain from the deep laceration in his leg which he acquired falling over one of the barriers. Stretched across the narrow streets, they were in most places, taller than himself. If one were to study the barricades in any detail, they would consider them to be not much more than garbage heaps, piled with all manner of household goods and construction material. Some of which had very jagged edges. One barrier in particular in the rue de Rivoli was composed almost entirely of paving stones and timbers from gutted houses. It had shifted slightly as he rapidly climbed over it and slid down the other side, catching his leg on something sharp and laying it open. He never hesitated, but ran on as blood streamed down his leg and pooled in his shoe. He had eventually lost his pursuer, and was able to bind the wound with a makeshift bandage and limp home, one shoe squelching indecently with a wet sucking noise every time he put his foot down.

Louise missed the look of pain which thinned his mouth, instead staring at the package with a moue of distaste. "What is it?"

"Meat. What else do you require to know?" he snapped.

"What _kind_ of meat?" she asked stubbornly.

"I'm not really sure, ungrateful chit! Perhaps it is some beloved family pet they were about to serve. Little Pierre the spaniel, or maybe Chou Chou, the kitty cat. You've eaten it before, Louise. Why so fastidious now?"

She stared back at him wide-eyed and utterly speechless. "I never ate anyone's c-cat, Erik!" she said, horrified that indeed she had. She stepped back hurriedly when his awful eyes gleamed with ill-humor.

"Perhaps you will recall our dinner not more than a week past, Louise, dear child." he said with false calm. He was enjoying himself at her expense, and in that moment she hated him. "Well? Do you?" when she said nothing. "Let me refresh your memory then. You commented on the flavor, saying it was the tastiest you had..."

"Stop it! Stop it!" she screamed. "Oh, why are you so horrible?" She felt the sting of angry tears and pointed at the sodden package dripping all over the table. "I won't eat that. I won't!"

His eyes were narrowed dangerously and his whole demeanor was poised on the brink of something which would prove unpleasant for her. She started to back away from him, cognizant of his shift in temper. Her move away from him wasn't lost on Erik. Damned guttersnipe! "Then go hungry for all I care!" he shouted. "I no longer wish to cater to a tiresome _child _not worth one bit of my time!"

"You _insisted _I stay here! And look how well that turned out." She was hungry and cold, past caring about his anger. She possessed some spleen as well, but she could have bitten her tongue at her next words when she saw the hurt and rage glistening in his eyes. "As far as your _time _is concerned, what else do you have to occupy yourself? You have no one and never will!"

Quick as a snake he was on her, grabbing her arm and hauling her closer. Louise squeaked in alarm, waiting for a blow that didn't come. Instead he shoved her backward and her hip connected painfully with the edge of the table before landing hard on her behind. She scrambled to her feet and put the table between them, watching him carefully, but he merely stepped toward it and snatched up the package. Cursing savagely, he hurled it at the wall where it slid in a desultory fashion to the floor, leaving behind a trail of pink slime.

"I just caught two of those Communard bastards not many feet from my front door! Of course I could not let them live. No one gets this close to my home and lives to tell it." He looked at her in appraisal. "I'm amazed that I let _you _in. It was a mistake, for you are indeed worthless. It would seem you were better off in that cell after all." He pointed to the oozing mess on the floor. "Do what you will with it. I won't be here."

With that, he turned away, but before he left the room she caught sight of his trouser leg. The coarse material was stained red with a jagged tear, and a bloody bandage was just visible. Louise forgot his disgust and cruel words in an instant. "Erik! You're hurt!"

But he was already out the front door leaving her to wonder what had just happened. The masked man wasn't the easiest person to live with; abrupt with her and secretive, he could also be kind, even making her laugh on occasion. But she feared her time here had finally run out. He had been livid with her and she had goaded him to an unsafe degree. On shaky knees, she cleaned the wall and floor as weak tears ran down her cheeks.

The rest of the day passed by in agonizing slowness and Louise went through the motions of dusting and sweeping the rooms for want of anything else to do. Eventually hunger drove her to cook the piece of meat that had caused the rift in their relationship. She forced herself to eat some of it, storing the remaining portion for Erik. The evening crawled by just as slowly as the afternoon had, and still he hadn't returned. She washed and readied herself for bed, then approached the wall where the front door was hidden from view. It was fast becoming imperative that she find the door. Often, she wondered what she _would _do if she found the way out. Leave him for the much more dangerous streets? She smoothed her hand down the wall, feeling for any slight protrusion, and finding nothing after a half hour of fruitless searching, she admitted defeat and went to bed.

She curled up in a tight, miserable ball underneath the blanket, her worry and unease growing. What if he didn't return? How was she supposed to live? She would starve down here or go crazy first. She would be entombed alive until death claimed her, starvation inevitable- a slow and excruciating way to die. A whimper escaped her. Where was Erik? She found it hard to believe he would simply abandon her. Even in his anger she couldn't see him being so heartless, but what if he was captured, or worse- dead?

She spent a restless night, waking at the slightest sound, believing one moment she was hearing the front door opening, or stealthy footsteps approaching the foot of the bed. By dawn she had finally slipped into an exhausted sleep, awaking four hours later and jumping out of bed to see if Erik had returned. On hesitant feet, she searched the house to no avail and her anxiety rose anew.

That day dragged just as slowly as the previous one, and she spent much of it at the wall looking intensely for some way of opening the door she well knew was there. She found nothing, and slumped in defeat against the wall, agonizing about her fate, until her worry shifted over to Erik's whereabouts. He had been gone for two days and she was soon to spend a second night alone. She finally came to the grim conclusion that he was captured or dead. This place was his home, not to mention she rather thought he liked her a little, or did. He wouldn't simply leave- where would he go?

She approached the wall, picturing the placement of his hands there. Closing her eyes, she very slowly ran her fingers over it again. They had gone through the hidden door many times and she was never certain how he opened it, but she had realized early on it was a hidden mechanism that must trigger it. She raised her arms above her shoulders. Erik was tall- surely the means to open it, would be higher up for that reason alone. She continued to feel the wall, her shoulders beginning to ache, and tears of frustration running down her cheeks, when her thumb hit a slight depression, and just like that, the door swung open silently. It was so sudden she could only stand there open mouthed, numbly regarding the door she had searched for with such vexation. Finally she shook herself out of her stupor, crowing with delight and jumping up and down at having found the way out. Her movements abruptly stilled, and she peered timidly into the gloom just outside the door. She half expected Erik to come rushing toward her, enraged by her actions.

She could leave if she wanted; they had left the little house many times and she had become familiar with the way to the surface using the little known rue Scribe entrance to the cellars. What gave her pause was the knowledge that men of the Commune had made it this far. She hastily looked around, seeing and hearing nothing in the stygian darkness.

Making up her mind, she went back inside and took one of the blankets, throwing it around her shoulders. She would have something of warmth when she reached the outside. Excited now at the prospect of escape into the world once again, she wished now only to leave.

Louise debated over taking the last small bit of cooked meat that was left, and decided that she must. She had eked the food out, making it last as long as possible. She couldn't be certain if Erik would return and she didn't know where she would get her next meal. She took the tin lantern from under the kitchen sink that Erik kept on hand and lit it; he only ever used it sparingly, but she knew it was full of kerosene. She lit the wick, trimming it low, and walked to the front door. She turned for one last look.

She stood indecisive for a moment. She was free! No longer kept in this dreary place against her will. But the joy at escaping her erstwhile jailor wouldn't come. Erik had been good to her. Not always, and certainly not exclusively in her best interests; many of his actions were done to benefit himself, and only served to put her in a perilous position. But he had cared for her and fed her to the best of his abilities. She had realized a long time ago that caring for someone else, hadn't been easy for him.

Louise reached to pull the door shut, but hesitated. If she did become lost or perhaps needed the safety of the little house again, how would she get in? Obviously it would be in the same manner, but finding the tiny press might take too long if she was in a hurry. Deciding, she pulled the door shut until only a sliver remained between it and the wall. Turning, she began her trek to the surface and freedom.

* * *

><p>He stood among his fellow prisoners like the tallest tree in the forest, albeit one surrounded, but remaining apart as it had always been for him. He had considered fighting his way out, and it had looked like there was a chance, but more of the citizen soldiers had arrived pointing weapons at him from all angles.<p>

He never even left the theatre, instead he was trapped between soldiers approaching him from opposite ends of the passage. His only excuse for the predicament he was in, he blamed on Louise. The useless chit had enraged him to the point where his surroundings became secondary to thoughts of what he would like to do to her. He had realized if he killed even one of the Communards, he would be shot out of hand. And now he waited with the others; they, being two men and a woman with her young child. The girl, no older than four, whined incessantly until Erik's head ached from the noise.

He turned his lamp-like eyes on the child, and the girl screeched in terror, hiding behind her mother's skirts. As one, the four of them backed even further away, the child still blubbering.

"Madame. Shut _that _up!" he ordered her, gesturing at the girl, who made things worse by wetting herself. The stink of urine reached his sensitive nasal cavities, and added insult to injury. "Have a care, or the evil troll will have you for dinner, girl!"

The woman sank to her knees and pressed her daughter's face to her chest. The child continued to cry, but thankfully it was muffled by her mother's ample bosom. Erik sketched a mocking bow. "Many thanks."

He leaned against the opposite wall, having no wish to intrude on the sensibilities of his fellow hostages. His tattered leg was throbbing and he wished for some clean water and a fresh bandage. His damp mask was chafing his skin raw, deepening his misery. He needed to concentrate on a way out of this predicament before any of the guards eying him curiously, decided to end his life sooner rather than later. They had so far left his mask alone, no doubt thinking it a war injury, but very soon that would change- once one of them became brave enough.

His thoughts came round to Louise again. His anger had finally sputtered out, but was quickly replaced with worry. She was alone in his house and if he died here, she would be trapped behind his walls unless she found the door press. As Erik contemplated an escape, he observed the arrival of a very agitated National Guardsman who began gesturing wildly as he spoke with one of their guards. The two men looked at him then away, and minutes later, only one guard remained, as the others grabbed their rifles and left hurriedly.

The remaining Communard sidled a little closer to Erik's cell smiling all the while. "Not much longer, monsieur. You and the rest will be released," but Erik saw the bitter truth in the man's eyes. They would be executed. "You conceal your face. Why? Was it the war?"

The strange eyes regarded him silently, making the other man uncomfortable. "The war, you ask? Nothing so trivial, I'm afraid." He pointed a skeletal finger to the black cloth covering his features. "Curiosity always runs rampant when something lies hidden in plain sight, does it not?" He spoke in a sonorous murmur, lulling the guard by the silken tones coming from those thin lips. He felt the dire need to hear everything the gaunt man said, and he shuffled closer to the source. "It would not serve anyone if I were to remove it, you understand," the voice said gently, "although I once did as an act." He shook his head and sighed. "Oh, they did scream then, young master. Trust me, they did." he said softly, and the guard shivered.

The Guardsman wasn't much more than a boy, and the excitement of forging a new world order for the working man meant very little to him now. Socialism was tedious and violent business, and he longed only for sunny days and his old friends. Many were now manning the barricades surrounding Paris as the French army made their push to take back the city.

"Show me." The guard gestured to the mask, his excitement and curiosity whetted; it was imperative now that he see what the mask hid, and again he inched toward the bars, almost against his will. He shook his head, but nevertheless moved toward the cell door.

"I don't think you have the courage to see it, young master, but if you dare, come closer. I have no wish to frighten the little child, you understand."

The guard looked briefly at the girl, who was sucking vigorously on her thumb, and hiccuping as she watched the masked man with wide glazed eyes. The Communard moved closer to the bars as Erik put his hands to the mask, and it was enough. Faster than the eye could blink, Erik went for the Punjab lasso instead, and it flew with deadly precision through the bars, cinching tightly around its target. Truly, curiosity did indeed kill the cat, or in this case the Communard guard. The man looked at his killer, not quite sure how the tables had turned so suddenly, but soon his only wish was to breathe. Which was never granted, as with monstrous strength, he was dragged by the neck to the cell and was soon slumped lifeless against the bars.

The cells were raucous with yells and screams of horror as the man was garroted in front of the people crowded as far as they could get from the violence which had just exploded in front of their eyes. The small girl was frozen in shock, her mouth working, but nothing emerging as she stared at the man whose legs were feebly moving as his life drained away.

Erik reached through the bars and pulled the rifle through to his side. Swiftly he went through the man's pockets looking for the keys, and grinned wickedly when his fingers closed over them. Within seconds, he had the cell open and was shoving the body away from the door. The others in the dungeon started calling to him, imploring him to release them next. His own cell mates had moved a little closer to the door, but stopped when he turned and regarded them in cold amusement.

"Erik is not so very bad now, yes?" He tossed the keys to the men. "You may do the honor of unlocking the other cells. I have a young lady waiting impatiently for my return." His thin lips turned up in a ghastly smile, revealing sharp incisors as he observed the woman and her daughter, bowing once again to them. "Madame et mademoiselle. Your servant."

And he was gone.

* * *

><p><strong>What would you have done in Louise's shoes? Stay or run for your life? And what do you think Erik will do when he finds her gone? <em>And <em>she left his front door open. Life ain't getting any easier beneath the opera house. I would love to hear your comments.**


	7. Chapter 7

Louise started having second thoughts about leaving, and once acknowledged, she couldn't ignore the tiny voice which became louder with every step she took away from the house by the lake. Her eagerness to leave the cellars hadn't diminished. On the contrary, it had only grown stronger as she walked cautiously through the passage which had begun a gradual rise to the street. She saw no one and was thankful for that small mercy, but found it curious since Erik caught two of the Communards near his home.

She couldn't shake the sense that she was running out on him, and her steps slowed until she halted in the passage, torn between leaving and staying. What drove her out the door was her hunger. The daylight, poor as it was, immediately blinded her, driving sharp little needles into her eyes, and she reeled back, hands tight against her face. She stood just inside the open door, eyes clamped tightly shut and streaming tears, but breathing deep of the moist air, freshened as it was by rain. It smelled wonderful compared to the staleness of the cellars, but after a few minutes another odor invaded her nostrils. As yet it was faint, but she well knew it was being carried on the wind. It was the smell of putrefaction.

"I ah...I think I'll wait a minute or so." she gasped, knuckling her eyes. Thankfully it was cloudy; a sunny day would have made it impossible to adjust to the light. She had been too long in the cellars. In the far distance she could hear the sporadic sound of gunfire and grimly realized that finding food now would be doubly perilous. Louise draped the blanket over her head, shielding her eyes enough to see around her. Wrapped in a rag and gripped tightly in one hand, was the money she earned with Erik. If she couldn't steal any food, she would simply have to buy it. She would get what provisions she could and return to the house by the lake. Perhaps he would be back by then. Either way, it was a roof over her head, and once behind the door of the little house, she was as safe there as anywhere. Feeling better for having a plan, she set off down the street.

* * *

><p>"I cannot believe I am going to do this. You are a ninny, Louise." she muttered in disgust as her feet working entirely on their own, retraced their steps back to the house beneath the opera. In that moment she felt very young and very stupid as she left the fresher air behind for the dank and dreary underground. But another feeling was present- relief. As she hurried through the near darkness, she was glad to be leaving the dangerous streets behind. But she cast her mind back to the Madeleine, and the man and boy she met that very afternoon.<p>

Earlier that day she had trudged to the church at the end of the rue Royale, and spent a few moments inside the comfort of its magnificent sanctuary, promising herself to come back someday and buy masses for her parents and Cosette. She prayed fervently for them, and was horrified on leaving, to discover bodies stacked like so much cord wood in the churchyard. Men labored beneath the lowering skies, a fine, misty rain falling as they dug a trench for burial in a mass grave, and she shivered in revulsion. From the theatre to the church, she had carefully skirted the random dead, their bloated corpses lying haphazardly in the streets, while Parisians for the most part ignored them. Death no longer had the power to shock, and their business was curtailed to keeping themselves out of harm's way.

Watching the scene, she observed a man and boy on horseback, wending their way carefully through a street clogged by many obstacles. With barricades thrown up to impede the progress of the French army, it was a torturous way to navigate the streets of Paris. A closer look at the two revealed them to be what her mother would have called genterie, members of the wealthy class and way beyond her touch. Her eyes were drawn to the man; he sat his horse easily and wore the air of one used to commanding others.

He was deep in conversation with the boy, and therefore missed the small child that darted into the middle of the road, his harried mother running frantically after him. The young boy of about four years of age, ran straight toward the two on horseback and under the very hooves of the man's skittish stallion. Louise, closer to the child, and seeing disaster, dropped the blanket and rushed forward as the bay horse rose on his hind legs. The child's mother screamed, while the man fought to control the animal, nearly unseating him in the process. Louise grabbed the child by one thin arm, and dragged him roughly away from the rearing horse.

"Oh, mam'selle! Thank you, thank you!" the young mother cried, frightened and out of breath as she got to them. "He is such a bad boy. Aren't you, Henri?" She reached for her son, giving him a teeth-rattling shake, and perversely followed it with a smothering hug, the boy protesting loudly.

The man, winning the battle of wills with the stallion, brought the spooked horse under control, and spoke briefly to the other horseman. They both dismounted, the gentleman removing his hat, and Louise took in his light brown hair and athletic build. He was above average height and dressed neatly in a gray sack coat and trousers. To her young eyes, he managed to look trim and elegant surrounded as he was by the ruins of war. She glanced self-consciously at the tow headed boy beside him, who appeared to be not much younger than she, and resisted the urge to scrub her hands on her skirt, feeling grubby and disheveled by comparison.

The man grimly observed the child, a muscle working in one cheek, then turned his cold eyes on Louise. "My thanks to you. If not for your timely intervention, the boy may have been badly injured, if not worse."

She looked up into the bluest eyes she had ever seen and couldn't find her voice.

He smiled at her, and his stern face relaxed, becoming younger and altogether charming. Incongruously she stared at a dimple in his strong chin, and becoming flustered, hastily dropped her eyes. "You are the heroine of the hour. Philippe de Chagny, mademoiselle, and my brother Raoul." He turned to the boy beside him, the other's round, smooth face appearing almost delicate in comparison to the elder de Chagny's very masculine features. "This young scamp decided he wished to ride after I told him he may not." He regarded the boy with affection tempered with a healthy dose of exasperation. "He thought to elude me," and he patted the shoulder of the horse beside him, "but this big fellow, although not well known for his tractability, is the swiftest in my stable, even circumventing blocked roads as it were," and his lip curled up in disdain. "Fortunes of war, I suppose." He turned back to his brother, his lean face once again serious. "Flaunting horseflesh in front of a starving populace is not a wise thing to do. Wouldn't you agree?"

Louise could only nod, looking at the boy with some sympathy, while Raoul stood beside his brother, his face flaming at the set-down. She smiled at him, and shyly, he smiled back, managing to look sheepish as well. Philippe slipped his hat back on, while shrewdly observing the girl's careworn appearance and thin face. He was well aware of the rampant hunger in the city; he did what he could with what he had- having his men deliver food to those in dire need. But he couldn't feed the entire city and had no wish to. He had remained in Paris while others fled; he would not see his family's ancient manor house destroyed by rabble.

Deciding quickly, he took out his card and handed it to the young girl. Something in her proud bearing and solemn face touched his heart. "Take this to the proprietor of the Au Rocher de Cancale. Do you know where it is? Yes? Very good. Tell him to give you what you require. He can settle with me later. Ask for Armand."

Louise realized she was being rewarded for her services and only felt a twinge of embarrassment that the handsome man was paying her off. The rest of her thoughts were taken up with the idea of having something substantial to eat. "T-Thank you."

He mounted his horse, the animal attempting to sashay sideways. "That's more than enough, Mal de mer!" and reined him in tightly. "Continue this, and _you_ will be in the stew pot next."

Louise smiled even as she nervously backed away from the large animal. "Does he, monsieur?"

Philippe looked down at the girl a trifle impatiently, wanting to be gone now. "Does he what?"

"H-His name. _Does_ he get seasick?"

He smiled faintly at her. "Not in the same way you might, although crossing the channel from England, it took all of us to keep him relatively quiet." Philippe nodded to her. "Stay safe, mademoiselle. The fighting isn't over, but there is hope yet."

She watched them until they were out of sight, then with a heavy sigh, glanced around for her blanket and cursed to find it gone. No doubt stolen by someone who needed it more than she did. One thief to another, and she cursed again at its loss. People milled around the area, a few crying and searching through the dead for loved ones, others no better than vultures, rifling through a dead man's pockets for anything of value. She cringed thinking of her recent _enterprise_ with Erik, and for a moment, nearly turned and went back to the Madeleine and the confessional box. She felt certain she would be doing penance for her sins well into her thirties. She watched as two women attempted to turn over a body, which was proving to be stiff and unyielding; she stared at the grisly sight, morbidly fascinated by the break down of her world. An old woman standing with a small knot of others, saw her gaze riveted on the scene of mayhem and approached her on arthritic legs.

"Ay, the Guards were overtaken by French Republic soldiers this afternoon. They gave no quarter, mam'selle. Took their weapons away from them and shot them where they stood. Women also." She wagged her head in disgust. "They swept on from here and went to the next street over. No one is safe these days, so watch where you step and with whom you speak."

The haggard woman leaned closer to Louise. "Imagine having a conversation with the likes of _him_."

"Philippe de Chagny?" Louise said, staring down the road where he had disappeared.

"No, I mean the _Comte _de Chagny, child. A powerful force in this city... or he used to be."

"The Comte de Chagny." she whispered, liking the sound of it on her tongue. She looked down at the embossed card the comte handed to her, and decided to find the restaurant. She turned to leave.

The old woman leaned closer to Louise, smelling strongly of camphor oil and sour sweat. "Careful does it, girl. This will be a bloody week, I fear."

She stared at the women one last time as they moved on to the next corpse, the stench from the dead working uneasily on her empty stomach, then hurried on her way. Once again, she wondered what had happened to Erik. Was he one of the many corpses littering the streets? No, she reasoned stubbornly. He would be too clever for them. Louise wasted no time walking to the rue Montorgueil, and managed to speak with the proprietor of the Au Rocher de Cancale, and before he threw her out of the restaurant, had quickly shown him the comte's calling card.

She bit her tongue, holding in the laugh at his consternation; he was suspicious of her, knowing full well that the comte did not fraternize with persons such as the unkempt child before him. Lovely ladies- yes. Ragamuffins- absolutely not, but he dare not dismiss the girl out of hand, for it was most definitely de Chagny's card of introduction and the comte was a regular at his establishment. His nose high in the air, he reluctantly provided her with a bag of provisions. At long last she had food; better yet, it didn't cost her one centime.

She quickened her steps through the wet and silent streets clutching the burlap bag, which had tucked inside of it, four withered apples, no, _three_ apples, for she was devouring one as she retraced her steps back to the rue Scribe. There was also a sizable piece of meat, species unknown, three sausages and two loaves of unleavened bread. Louise felt at times that she was being watched, and no doubt it was true, for once the sun began its descent, a different sort of city dweller walked Paris after dark, and that was all the more reason to be safely inside. She was eager now to return to the cellars and see if the masked man had come home. If he hadn't, she would try to muster the courage and look for him.

She was nearly to Erik's little house when she heard the sound of voices echoing in the tunnel ahead and automatically blew out the lantern. She turned in a circle as the sounds resonated from different directions, not certain what to do or where to go, She was a hungry and frightened girl, tired of being alone. She took a hesitant step backward, preparing herself to run to the intersecting passage behind her.

The decision was made for her when a long arm wrapped around her waist, and a spidery hand covered her mouth to stop the scream bubbling up in her throat. She was lifted off of her feet, and carried back to the side passage she had crossed but a moment ago. The hand remained over her mouth, and while she struggled against her captor's superior strength, a voice she knew well, hissed in her ear.

"Eager to converse with Communards again, Louise? Wait any longer and you will be doing more than..." He was startled when instead of trying to get away, she turned and threw her arms around his narrow waist, forcing a soft grunt from him.

"You're alive! I knew it! I knew it..."

Erik stiffened as she clung to him, unsure of her clutching hands. Before he could say anything more, he heard the shuffle of feet coming closer to where they hid. "Shh... Remain perfectly still." he managed to whisper as he stared down at the top of her head where her cheek was pressed to his chest.

She nodded, keeping him tightly secured in her embrace as tears rolled down her cheeks. Erik was motionless as her tears wet his shirt, his arms hanging completely useless at his sides. His ears were attuned to the shuffling feet and grim voices nearly on top of them, but the rest of his senses were completely caught up in the notion of being held by this slip of a girl; she was the first to ever do so. As the men moved past them on what would one day be known as the Communist Road, he slowly raised a hand and awkwardly patted her thin shoulder. He was by degrees vastly uncomfortable from her proximity, and at the same time absolutely enchanted to be held in her arms. He was terrified and wanted nothing more than to get away from her.

They stood there listening tensely to the tramp of many feet and Louise rubbed her cheek against the coarse linen of his shirt. She couldn't say she was happy at this moment in time, but she felt a tiny thrill of joy that she wasn't alone anymore, and in spite of the immediate danger, she was content. It grew quiet once again, and after waiting a few minutes, Erik gently removed her arms from around him and stepped back. The sweet touch of another had left him confused, and he distanced himself with mixed feelings. He had tried to stay completely still, but the excitement of the moment, the sheer strangeness of it, had started a shaking in his limbs which Louise felt and wondered over.

"They are gone- for now. They're being siphoned off to stop the republic from pouring through the weak points in their defenses, and we should be all right for a while." he said hoarsely, fighting to return to normal- normal for him anyway.

He picked up the lantern and took her by the elbow. "Whether you wish it or not, we are returning to my home."

They had begun walking, and her glance was bashful as she looked up at him. "I was on my way back, Erik." she said quietly.

He kept his eyes straight ahead. "I went first to the house." How to explain what he felt when he found his front door open. Relief that she had not been trapped there, and dismay that she had escaped from him. But to think that she actually returned on her own? To him?

"I _had _to get out. You were gone, and I was nearly out of food." She looked up at his profile- a black expanse giving away nothing of the man's thoughts. "I wasn't g-going to come back, but I changed my mind." She lifted the bag where she had tucked inside, the food which would last them for a few days.

"Why?"

She shrugged. "There was nowhere else to go. Besides, I didn't know what happened to you, and if I left without ever finding out...it...it would haunt me. I was going to try and search for you." Without knowing the reason why, she told a small lie. "But look!" She held up the bag. "I bought us some food! Enough for a few days."

He glanced down at her. "Bought?" he uttered scathingly. "Why would you buy what could just as easily be stolen?"

Disappointed at his reaction, she nevertheless said tartly, "Because there are more thieves now than things to steal, that's why!"

He snorted. "Only if you are a poor thief, Louise." He regarded the lantern in his hand with chagrin. "This is all the kerosene I have, child. What possessed you to take it?"

She stared at him in disbelief. "Oh, _I_ don't know... Because it's very dark down here?" she said with a glint in her eye. "You may see as well as a cat, but I don't!"

"Nevertheless, at this moment in time it is irreplaceable. A candle would have done just as well." He shook the lantern. "Three quarters full. I will have to put this in a place where you cannot reach it. A high shelf should suffice." He looked down at her from his towering height, his words softened by a smile she couldn't see, but knew to be there just the same.

"I give you my word, friend. I won't touch it." she promised him as the house slowly revealed itself to them from the murk. "But you must give me yours to never disappear again."

He paused in the act of opening the door, his hand falling back to his side. Friend? Surely he had not heard her correctly. No one ever called him that. Other things, certainly- terrible things. Demeaning things. Even the daroga hadn't classified him as such. For the girl to call him that, would mean he had acted in her best interests- not used her to advance his own. He had ogled her nakedness while she was helpless in his bed, and _touched_ her in an inappropriate manner. Friend? He snorted in vexation. The girl was delusional.

Louise watched him curiously. With Erik she never knew what he was thinking, but he soon had the door open and she sighed in relief stepping over the threshold. The irony didn't escape her. After searching frantically for a way out of its confining walls, she was now content to have them surround her once more. She knew he wanted her here, either because he still didn't trust her not to give away his location, or for a reason he wouldn't admit even to himself. But it was enough.

* * *

><p><strong>Anyone happy that Erik got his buddy, Lou back? Show me some hands. <strong>**Uh oh, ****Erik is grinning...that must mean something.**


	8. Chapter 8

Louise started frying a little of the meat for their supper while Erik built a fire from the last of the kitchen chair. He added an oak leg into the growing flames and sat back on one heel, his injured leg stretched stiffly out in front of him. At this rate they would soon be sitting on the floor. They had the luxury of one fire per day and he would keep it carefully banked until the next, when he would build her another. Every so often, he would cease the never-ending hunt for food, and search for fuel to burn, roaming as far away as the Bois de Boulogne. He had a fairly good sized stack of kindling and small limbs he had brought back to the house, but he would soon have to go again and take the girl with him. She required sunshine and fresh air, more so than his thin frame did.

He looked askance at her. The chit could gather some of the wood and help keep herself warm for a change. She always gravitated toward the heat like a flower in spring will, as it forces its torturous way through the soil toward the sun. Erik snorted. She was always there before he could get to his feet, a blanket wrapped snugly around her frail shoulders, and he was quite sure if he didn't move aside willingly, she would _push_ him out of her way. Luckily, with the arrival of May, the temperature had moderated a bit in the cellars. It was no longer icy, merely cold. She sliced bread and laid a piece beside the fried meat and boiled carrots on each plate, proud that she had provided their supper. Because they were down to one chair now, their meals were eaten in the parlor. It was warmer there as well, and Louise luxuriated in the welcome heat and food. As they ate she listened raptly while he related to her what happened to him nearly three days before. When he told her about the little girl in the cell with her mother, Louise was horrified.

"They would have _shot_ the child? But why?"

He shrugged and leaned back in his chair. His leg pained him. He had cleaned it on returning home, and bound the edges of the wound tightly together, but it would no doubt need stitches. He could also feel sores beginning to bloom on each cheekbone. His skin was often a source of irritation for him, and lately he had kept it covered for far too long. His hand wearily massaged the tight band of muscles at the base of his neck.

"They were more than willing to execute your friend, were they not? And it would have been your fate as well." He sighed, looking at her woebegone face, and softened his words a little. "I do not think even they would go so far as to murder a small child. The girl and her mother were unfortunately herded in with the rest. They are most likely once again on the streets, and living precariously day by dreary day. Does _that_ satisfy you, young Louise?"

His sarcasm was lost on her as she nodded and speared another piece of meat, popping it into her mouth and chewing slowly. "Mm. It's good, isn't it?"

His eyebrow quirked beneath the mask as he watched her curiously. "As opposed to what?"

She looked up in exasperation. "Have you never enjoyed a meal?"

"I _enjoy_ music, books, architecture...many things, but food?" He shook his head. "When I must, I eat, but I take no pleasure in it."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Someday I'll fix you apple tarts like my mother used to make. You'll change your mind then."

"I highly doubt that." he sniffed, and Louise fell silent.

After dinner, she stood and took her dish to the kitchen. Erik got stiffly to his feet and followed her, and as he approached the sink, she saw him wince. She gestured to his torn trouser leg. "I noticed that before. How did it happen?"

He set his plate down and said in a tight voice, "Some took serious issue with me pilfering their dinner." He shrugged and his eyes skittered away from hers. "They chased me as though I had taken Grandmere's silver, and I fell over one of those blasted street barricades. I caught my leg on something sharp and tumbled ignominiously down the other side."

Louise had a difficult time picturing the man tumbling anywhere- he not only could see like a cat, but moved as one. "Let me look at it." She patted the chair. "Sit down and roll up your trouser leg."

He stared at her horrified, and shook his head vigorously. "No."

"Don't be silly. I can help, but I need to see it, Erik."

"No," and he crossed his arms over his chest and tried to stare her down.

In anyone else it would have been cause for amusement, and she felt a laugh bubbling up. Wisely, she resisted. At the moment, he reminded her of nothing more than a very large, albeit, a very odd child refusing to see reason. But Louise dug in her heels, prepared for a battle. She didn't know yet how far Erik could be pushed before he left merely scary behind and moved into fearsome territory. She would rather not die of fright, but his leg could become infected if it wasn't already. She thought him illogically stubborn and felt her impatience rising. "You helped me when I was injured. Isn't that what friends do? _Help_ each other?"

Ah. That word again. Friend. She enjoyed bandying it about, and he felt the sneer twisting his upper lip. He sighed mournfully, and again Louise was tempted to laugh. Leave it to Erik to take issue with something like this, and blow it out of proportion.

He cleared his throat and stared at his worn shoes, knowing he was going to have to let her look at it. The blasted girl could be stubborn when she wished, but perhaps it would be better if he let her examine it. The wound was on the back of his leg and difficult for him to see. He already ran the risk of infection from neglect; his pride needn't lose him a leg.

"Very well," sounding for all the world like a foreign potentate granting a boon to a lowly supplicant. He turned the chair around straddling it, and gingerly sat down, his thin back to her. He glanced up, and she heard a different note in his voice. "Louise...I must warn you- I am not the best looking fellow in the world," her pointed stare made him stutter a bit, "a-and it extends to the rest of me, therefore I beg your pardon in advance."

She was already kneeling at his feet and gently rolling the dirty trouser leg up to his knobby knee. She folded the material back and huffed at his words. "None of us are put together the way we would like, Erik. I'm certainly not." She grinned up at him. "But I won't say anything unkind if you do not."

He nodded dumbly, not certain of the girl's meaning- levity wasn't his strong suit. How could it be? There had never been anything at all humorous in his life before, and the gentle give and take of a relationship was almost beyond his capacity.

Privately she thought him overly melodramatic- he had a flair for it she had discovered, but when the mottled gray flesh of his skinny leg was revealed, she bit back a cry. She had imagined it to be as white as his pale hands and bony chin, but the skin normally concealed from her view had the pallor seen on many of the corpses now lying in the streets of Paris. And his leg was so very thin she couldn't imagine how they supported his tall frame, even as gaunt as he was. Her hands were gentle though as she peered at the deep tear on the back of his leg.

"It needs cleaned, Erik a-and I'm not sure, but stitches also. At least the wound doesn't appear to be corrupted. I've seen what _that_ looks like." At his nod, she looked at him doubtfully. "But I've never stitched anyone."

He was becoming very uncomfortable with her fingers lightly gripping his leg, her thumb inadvertently stroking the cool flesh and making him squirm a bit. It felt nice. _Too _nice. He closed his mouth with a snap, for his lips had parted at her soft touch. "I would have spared you this, but needle and thread were both sadly lacking in that cell." he said stiffly and began to roll down his trouser leg until she stopped him.

"What are you doing?" she scolded. "I said I never stitched anyone before. I didn't say I would not." She got to her feet with the inherent grace he admired in one so young, and put out a hand to stop him from rising. "I'm going to boil some water and gather the materials I need. _You _will show me how it is done. All right?"

He could only manage another nod, resigning himself to her care whether he wished to or not. She readied water to heat, and at his direction she assembled everything she would need, including the smelly salve he had used on her shoulder. All the while she held at bay the uneasy notion of running a needle through someone's flesh. But really...how difficult could it be? She was acquainted with sewing, and her mother had always complimented her on her neat rows of small stitches. Yes, she thought bracingly, her youthful confidence reasserting itself. I most certainly can do this.

* * *

><p>"Louise! Answer me! Are you all right in there?" and rapped impatiently on the bath room door.<p>

She stood up on weak legs, wiping vomit from her chin with a shaking hand and pulled the chain on the toilet. She splashed cold water on her face and rinsed out her mouth.

"Louise!" Erik called once more, agitation threading his voice. He had drawn air into his lungs for another shout, and when the door opened slightly, he let it out in a _whoosh, _her wan face peeping through the crack at him. He eyed her carefully, relaxing a bit. "Better now?" and she nodded tiredly, knuckling one eye. Watching her, he said mildly, "Come out then."

She nodded again, and walked on fragile legs to the sofa, sitting down carefully as one does after a long illness. She looked up at him as he hovered over her. "I'm all right now. You should get off that leg." she murmured, glancing down at her hands clasped in her lap to stop them from shaking.

It started out all right. She washed the ragged cut with soap and water, being as gentle as she could. She had no wish to cause him more pain, but that is exactly what she did as her hands started to tremble holding the threaded needle in one hand. Erik sat still on the kitchen chair, the back of his leg bared. Her first stitches were large and messy. She glanced quickly at him as he clutched the back of the chair tightly with both hands. She had to give him credit- he never made a sound, but the muscle in his leg clenched every time the needle entered his skin.

She gulped nervously, feeling the first licks of nausea. "I'm hurting you. I'm s-sorry," and dabbed at the blood dripping down his leg.

"I've been hurt before." he said dismissively and bowed his head, taking a better grip on the chair back, his knuckles bone white. "Just get on with it." he growled through gritted teeth.

And she did, working on his leg by stint of will only, her mind rebelliously returning to the Place de Madeleine and the bodies stacked one upon the other, their discolored flesh putrefying in the warm weather. She remembered her first thought looking at the dead; it wasn't pity for their grisly end- it was revulsion for what they each had become. A disgusting _thing _which could no longer talk or reason- merely an object now that inspired fear and loathing. She was just able to put the last stitch in his gray skin, before clambering to her feet and reaching the bath room where she emptied her stomach, retching miserably.

She glanced over at him with a pasty smile. "I don't know what happened. I was fine one minute and then my stomach began to hurt." She looked apologetically at him, still a little queasy, and gestured to his leg. "I need to bandage that. I-I f-feel better now." She moved to stand and Erik put a cold hand over hers and patted it awkwardly.

"Already done." He had changed into fresh clothing, and raised the trouser leg briefly to show her the neat white bandage. He regarded her with a warm light in his yellow eyes; to Louise, the look was unfamiliar. She couldn't recall ever seeing it before. "You did well."

"No." she whispered. " I hurt you unnecessarily. I didn't do well at all." she replied, near tears.

"Maybe so," he shrugged negligently, "but at least the wound is closed and it will heal." His thin lips quirked into one of his ghastly smiles showing sharp white canines as he observed the color returning to her face. If ever a grin could be called predatory, she thought, that was it and shuddered. "Are you cold, child?" She shook her head, as another chill sliced through her, and Erik hooked the blanket never far away from the girl, and slung it around her shoulders.

"You did me an even greater service, Louise."

She glanced up at the hesitancy in his voice. "Of course I did." she snorted. "I finally finished it and left you alone. Tell the truth though. You could have done a much better job than I, couldn't you?"

He shrugged one thin shoulder and sat down in his chair. "Perhaps. But I have always looked after myself," he shifted in his seat, stretching out his sore leg, "so it is strange indeed to find a young lady such as yourself, willing to touch that which has forever been, ah...for lack of a better word- _untouchable_. It is over and done with, so calm yourself."

Louise immediately dropped her eyes from his. She had been repulsed by his discolored skin, and she cleared her throat self-consciously, her gaze settling everywhere except on Erik. She stared at the wall above the fireplace. "What about your parents? Surely they cared for you?" She wondered if he would even answer her.

He said nothing for a full minute, and the silence stretched out between them, until Louise imagined it to be a thin band ready to snap. "The man and woman who _spawned _this," and his fingers unfurled gracefully beside the mask, "had as little to do with me as possible. I'm sure the only joy where I was concerned, began and...ended with my conception." he said quietly. "They gave me a wide berth from the time I was born, and my mother always made sure I wore my mask, Louise. She would throw it at me sometimes. I finally came to realize the favor she did me. Getting me to admit to myself that the mask was my friend- my _only _friend. Which was a good life lesson for me, for there came a day when she had me hitch the mare to the buggy and drive us into the countryside five miles from my home in Rouen. She gave me a handful of francs, a loaf of bread and some advice." He leaned back against the sofa, and closed his eyes, shutting out her pitying gaze, but he continued nonetheless.

"My parents were an ordinary couple, wanting nothing more than an ordinary family. What they received were a number of still births before I arrived- babies so deformed they never drew a breath. Imagine their grief and horror when I was born- and managed to thrive."

"Your face?"

"Yes. Pray you never see it."

"What advice did she give you?" Louise whispered, wondering what her parents may have done with her had she been deformed at birth. No, she decided. They would have loved her regardless, never realizing in her youthful innocence how frail and inadequate the human spirit could be.

He raised a hand to the mask and she fixed her gaze on those preternaturally long fingers that were imbued with a deceptive strength. She likened them to the web of a spider; thin and delicate to the eye, but strong and capable of great resiliency.

"Why, it is obvious, child, is it not? She suggested a sideshow would be a fitting occupation for me. I was not to come back- ever, as I was no longer welcome in her home. From that point in time I was alone." His calm voice uttering such desolation in such an off-hand manner, chilled her. "She left me beside the road, Louise- I was ten years old."

"I-I cannot believe they would abandon their own son," but a tiny voice inside her slyly questioned what was so terrible beneath that piece of black linen that would drive away your own flesh and blood? A shiver went down her spine at what was sitting in the room with her, and once again she was ashamed.

He shook his head absently. "Not _they. _Oh no, not they. My mother was by then a widow, and blaming me for my father's untimely demise. Apparently seeing his unnatural son every single day, drove him into an early grave. I was taught all the basics one teaches their children from the beginning of life- how not to soil oneself, and to manage a knife and fork without making too much of a mess, and it was accomplished as quickly as possible so they weren't required to do so. I learned my letters when I was four years of age, was given music instruction at the same time on the piano and violin, since I couldn't be kept away from my mother's upright in the parlor. They had no idea where I received my thirst for knowledge." He snorted and ran a hand through his straight black hair. "I'm sure they never considered it a God-given talent- quite the opposite, no doubt.

"My father was a master mason- my mother had no specific talents, although she was quite proficient on the piano. She was also a very proud woman, so naturally she was ashamed of her only child. She didn't have the luxury of boasting about her one chick- she had to hide him away just as one would conceal a dirty little secret." He sighed and his slash of a mouth tightened. "But for the most part, they left me alone. I think they viewed me as a demon or...or sprite. Possibly a changeling- people in Normandy often believed in such things- I saw it often enough in my parents' eyes." He looked at her then, and to his credit, the old pain remained tucked out of sight. "They were terrified of me, but my father's fortuitous escape left her alone with her monstrous son. And that would never do."

He was surprised when her hazel eyes filled with tears; those beautiful eyes capable of changing colors from moment to moment, much like a chameleon changes its color to blend and take on the shades of its surroundings. But they managed to show her emotion so readily- every hurt dealt her, and every pain, even the harm done to a very ugly, very lonely boy so long ago. He felt nothing for that frightened child he'd once been, but how could _she_ possibly understand the soul numbing terror of standing beside a desolate country road with nowhere to go? The face of a demon protected from a hostile world by a simple piece of cloth; forced to put one foot in front of the other and walk away from what was hated, yet familiar. He conveniently forgot that the girl beside him had been cast adrift as well.

But his mother had performed one last service for him. She had allowed him the luxury of needing no one. He was not subject to the follies of other men- he was completely self-sufficient and would remain so.

"Do not waste your tears or pity on me, Louise. I no longer require them and haven't for years." He stood up abruptly and left her sitting there. She heard the quiet snick of the door to the empty room closing, and knew she would be alone for the rest of the day.

* * *

><p>"Why, they have already destroyed the Tuileries Palace, you buffoon! And fired many of the buildings in the rue de Rivoli as well. Delescluze was behind much of it. Before he was killed, he wanted to obliterate as much as could be accomplished before we were overrun- which could be any day now. But hear me, Laurent- we will rally at another place and time. Of <em>that, <em>you may be sure."

His companion ran a hand through his greasy hair and glanced around hurriedly. "Reprisals are stepping up. They offer no quarter, especially after the archbishop and those other poor bastards were lined up and shot in the prison yard." The man nervously lowered his voice. "Garnier's unfinished theatre in the ninth arrondissement has stores of powder in the cellar- any idea what they are going to do with it all? Well, _I_ know. It will soon follow the rest of Napolean's monuments and end up a very large hole in the ground. Why do you still believe in the socialist order, eh, Jules? It is a lost cause now and to think as you do will only lead to death, and I would rather it wasn't my own..." Their voices faded as a deeper shadow in the gloom of the alley slipped away into the night.

Erik had known about the old palace being set ablaze. All over Paris, the Commune was razing as much of the city as they could manage, pulling down monuments and buildings, lining up its citizens, and through Communard gunsights, ruining even more lives. His eyes settled on what was left of the magnificent Hotel de Ville across the street; it was nothing but smoking rubble now, along with the soaring and beautiful Church of Saint-Eustache, an architectural masterpiece if there ever was one. He felt an actual ache in his chest at the thought of such beauty callously destroyed, and knew they wouldn't be the only victims of this mindless destruction turning Paris into a wasteland.

He hurried his steps, making plans as his long legs carried him onward. His hunch concerning the barrels of gunpowder stored below the opera house was indeed coming to pass; there was enough of it to blow the theatre sky high if they so wished. Garnier's building was a solid example of the excesses of the ruling class. Commissioned as it was by Napolean the third, the Commune wanted nothing more than to erase the last vestiges of that regime, of which his opera house was the latest shining example.

He had not chosen sides when this madness began- he wouldn't now. Being the outsider that he clearly was, he well knew that neither side would wish to claim _him _as a compatriot. He had only ever wanted to be left in peace- to help finish the theatre and live vicariously through the performances on its majestic proscenium stage.

But he knew Louise could no longer stay in the cellar. It was far too dangerous for him to allow it. Grimly, and with haste, he made his way back to the theatre.

* * *

><p>"<em>Oh<em>! Blast!" she sputtered, as she wrung out her other dress in the icy water and hung it to dry from the back of the kitchen chair. She rubbed her numb hands together, working the feeling back into them. Erik had taken one look at how red and chapped they were, and insisted she use a little of the salve on them and it helped. Her underthings, hanging in the bath room, were draped over the tub; there was no help for it but to hang them practically under his nose. Except for a few snide comments and annoyed sighs, he said nothing more. The cellars always damp, she dragged the wooden chair closer to the still warm fireplace, hoping to speed the drying process. She wasn't certain what Erik did with his clothes; maybe he washed them in that oily looking lake of his, she thought evilly. However he did it, they were always relatively clean. He was no stranger to soap and water.

As she worked, she thought about the last few days. They had rubbed along together tolerably well, eating the food she collected on the day he escaped from the cell. He had pointedly asked her how she acquired it.

Louise looked up at him one morning from the sofa, where she sat repairing the tear in his trouser leg. She had insisted on sewing his clothes as well as hers and Erik at last gave in. "For if I do not, you will beat me over the head with it endlessly, won't you?" he had snapped in exasperation.

She glanced up at him now. "I already _told_ you. I bought it," and she ducked her head, working with a concentration he found suspicious.

"Mmm. So you said...so you said." he murmured. He sat down in his chair, crossing his legs, and steepled his fingers beneath his chin- which to Louise meant he was going to get the truth out of her- Erik-style. His index finger went to his upper lip and stroked it thoughtfully. "Now be kind enough to tell me how you really acquired the food, child. Not this fairy tale you cooked up and served to me cold." He waved a languid hand at her. "You didn't have enough francs for that veritable feast you lugged back here," and he proceeded to watch her face closely for the lie.

"You were not offering payment in other ways, were you, Louise?" The words were spoken in the soft, precise way that was curiously Erik, but his eyes. She swallowed hard. Oh, his eyes. She would never get used to them. They could go from mildly inquisitive to frightening in a matter of seconds.

She dredged up some indignation and hurt. So he assumed she would trade her maidenhead for food? "Why do you always enjoy thinking the worst of people? Of...of me? And why would I stoop that low now when I wouldn't before?" She was gratified to see him drop those devil's eyes of his momentarily. But not for long.

He raised them to hers again, and stabbed a finger at her. "You never answered _my_ question. Why is that?"

She huffed loudly and gave him a dirty look. "Oh, very well," and took a deep breath. "Are you familiar with the Comte de Chagny?" She said it with no small amount of pride.

Erik heard the admiration in her voice and felt a stirring of resentment. He had known of de Chagny, but of course had never met him. "I am aware of the comte, yes. But what does he have to do with some bad apples and a stringy piece of meat?"

She glanced severely at him, his sarcasm stinging a little, and proceeded to tell him how she met Philippe de Chagny. He could see the beginnings of hero worship in the girl's eyes, and contrarily decided to nip it in the bud. He had no qualms sullying the comte's reputation. None at all.

"He is a well known lecher, Louise. You are wasting your time thinking him worthy of your high regard."

She had set her sewing down and looked hard at him. "He was grateful, Erik, that's all, and I think you should at least appreciate his generosity- we're eating the food he more or less provided!"

He said nothing as he jumped to his feet and went to the fireplace and started poking at the smoldering fire with sharp jabs. Finally he turned around and observed her from glittering eyes. "_He _didn't provide you with anything. You did that yourself. Do not make him into something he is not!"

"I thought you would be pleased!" she declared hotly. "It was more than we had, and it cost me nothing."

"Oh? I think you would be surprised at the high cost he would exact from you were you to continue an acquaintance with him, silly girl!" he sneered.

Louise sucked in a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. She thought he was being unreasonable over a chance meeting of someone she would more than likely never meet again. Which the girl considered unfortunate; she remembered again the comte's serious blue eyes and courtly manners. It was a treasured memory for her, and she didn't have very many of those. He had been kind to her, and she lay in bed at night replaying the meeting over and over, changing it a little to suit her fancy. She was wearing a pretty dress, nearly the same color as his eyes, and her dark curls were pulled away from her face with a jeweled clip, cascading down her back clean and shining. He had bent over the small hand she held out to him, and he placed his well cut lips just so... It pained her to speak of it and have Erik reduce it to something sordid. A part of her had realized from the start that he would do just that, and she resented him heartily for it.

He noticed the blush suffusing her cheeks and wondered at its cause. Louise looked at his stiff posture and narrowed eyes, and realized the masked man could very well work himself into a righteous fury. Over what, she wasn't sure, but she needed to unruffle his male feathers and not allow him to sulk. Once his mood changed for the worse, he would take himself off somewhere, and she would become nervous, remembering how he disappeared for nearly three days. She was always cognizant of that fact.

She put aside her acrimony, and rose to her feet, wondering if it would always be this way with him- she had stepped early into her adult shoes, while Erik at times regressed, and stubbornly remained in the adolescent's. He could be very wise and clever, but just as quickly revert emotionally to childishness. Walking over to him, she reached for his hand. As usual, his first reaction was to snatch it away as though her touch burned. Part of her was amused by his stand-offish behavior, but she was still exasperated with him. Apparently he was much more discerning in who was given the privilege of touching him.

Louise refused to take no for an answer and tried again. This time he allowed it and she grasped his fingers gently in hers and sighed. "Honestly, you needn't be so jumpy around me! I mean no harm."

His hand was perfectly still in hers, lying there thin and cold. "Well, of course you mean no harm, Louise." he said indignantly. "After all, what can _you _do to _me_?"

It was laughable that she considered him to be frightened of her. Leery, yes. But fear her? He only feared _his _reaction, and to deny the pleasurable feelings she brought with her touch, meant keeping the girl at a safe distance. Which was difficult at best- Louise continued to put her hands on him- and he liked it only too well.

She sighed again, tired of banging heads with him. Insufferable man! "Let's not argue, all right? It doesn't really matter. I'll never see the comte again." She took pity on him and let go of his hand. "Still friends?"

He shrugged and cleared his throat, her nearness once again causing a welter of emotions. How could he crave the touch of her hand, and at the same time fear it? He was becoming weary, having to think of another's well-being all of the time. "If you wish to call it such."

Louise blinked. "I believe I do." she said stiffly.

"Fine." he replied stonily.

"Yes, fine." she sniffed.

By silent agreement, they had dropped the subject of de Chagny, and after some awkward moments, put it behind them. Her washing now completed, she took a turn around the parlor, wishing there was more to do in Erik's little home. To her young mind, time on her hands was the worst part of this conflict, and boredom set in quickly. Without conscious thought, her steps led her to the empty room again, where she had often gone when Erik disappeared for a while. She stared at the wall, chewing on her lower lip as she studied it for hairline cracks or indentations.

She was certain he had a door hidden in the wall and a room just beyond. She glanced once behind her and listened closely. Satisfied, she began running her hand carefully down the wall.

* * *

><p>As he entered the opera house by the rue Scribe gate, he reluctantly admitted to himself that there was another reason for removing the girl from his home. She was entrenching herself bit by bit into his life, and he couldn't allow it to continue. To become emotionally dependent on another after years of being alone would never do, but he pushed away the feeling of dread which stole over him from the idea of her leaving. Nevertheless, he wouldn't allow her to be blown to pieces along with the theatre. She would have to go.<p>

Silently he entered his home, and the first thing to greet his eyes was the girl's laundry lying on the floor near the fireplace. Well, he wouldn't miss this particular habit of hers, his lip curling in distaste. But he cocked his head, wondering why she wasn't using the chair as she normally did. The garment wouldn't dry that way. Feeling a prickle of unease, he made a hasty search of his quarters, ending up in the only place left- and found the door to the torture chamber wide open.

**A/N If this was a movie, we would already be calling Louise many, _many_**** derogatory names, wouldn't we? Come on, admit it! I know _I_ would. Hasn't she ever heard of A Nightmare on Elm Street or Halloween? Stay out of that spooky house, leave that closed door _alone_. You know the drill. But I'm way ahead of myself. Of course she never heard of those films- this _is _after all, 1871. Uh oh, Louise :(**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N This chapter deals in part with dark Erik, and some of you may find his actions questionable. What the fudge****! _I_ find them questionable. But ****I can't see a laid back and cool Phantom just yet. He****'s Leroux's Erik, and that boy had some serious issues. Send some good karma his way and by the end of the story he'll be one mellow fellow. **_**Nah**_** :)**

* * *

><p>She stood in the middle of the small hexagonal space, turning in a slow circle, mouth hanging open as she stared at the incongruous sight of a room made entirely of mirrors. The glittering walls were taking the meager light from the lamp, and throwing it back at her, mimicking her every little movement and duplicating it. She had never seen such a thing outside of a practice room; to find it in a room far below the theatre was baffling. Yet it really shouldn't surprise her. A house in the bowels of the opera house was possible in Erik's world- why not a mirrored room? It was the oddest sensation to see her reflection frowning back- an army of Louise's all struck in the same pose, fingers of both hands all vying for space, tightly shoved as they were against her lips. She winced, seeing a hundred young girls with lackluster brown hair and thin necks, eyes wide and shadowed with hunger. They were all clothed in limp brown dresses, and feeling a moment of dizziness, she slammed her eyes shut on the disturbing image.<p>

Opening the door to the room of mirrors had turned out to be just as simple as the one in front of the house. Literally hours looking for what was in plain view all of the time. Armed with the knowledge of how the other door worked, it was only a matter of time before she found the slight depression, that when pressed, smoothly opened it.

This room, like the one preceding it, was empty of furniture and all of the accoutrements that made anyone's house a home. It was obviously incomplete like the rest of Erik's odd little house- a work in progress, but stalled for the moment and awaiting the finishing touches.

She did a pirouette, pretending she wore a white gauze skirt, and laughingly watched as all of the Louises moved together in complete synchronization. As she spun, she spied a black hole in the rough ceiling and came to a halt. Walking closer, she knew she wouldn't be satisfied until she explored the yawning opening which beckoned to her, and whispered silently of untold secrets and hidden treasures. Perhaps it led to the opera house upstairs, and she could see the wonders which Erik hoarded like a miser does his gold. Glancing around, she hurried from the room and grabbed the chair in front of the fireplace, dislodging her dress from its back in the process.

Returning to her discovery in the room of mirrors, she planted the chair beneath the hole and climbed up on it. With an exasperated sigh, she regarded the opening which remained tantalizingly out of reach by a foot or more, racking her brain for a way to bridge the gap. A solution finally presented itself, and hopping down, she made her way to the parlor and grabbed the large leather bound volume of Russian fables lying beside Erik's chair. Often he would sit and read for an hour or better- at least he did on those occasions he was actually still for longer than five minutes. Louise had felt privileged when he would translate bits of it aloud to her. Hefting the weighty book in both hands, she went back to the mirror room and set it on the chair, then clambered up once more.

"Oh, it works perfectly," she crowed, and prepared to hoist herself through the opening. With a sigh, she glanced at the lamp sitting on the floor, and wondered if there were some way she could take it with her. Wherever she was going would probably be as dark as the rest of the cellars, but with a last look of regret she left it behind. Louise stuck her elbows through the opening and was prepared to jump, when a cold voice spoke behind her.

"Odd way to leave the house, child, wouldn't you say?" She let out a squeak of dismay and tumbled off the chair, right into his arms. His masked face was very close to hers, and with a shudder, she peeked into his eyes.

The rage she saw in them was terrifying, and her one thought was to appease him before the violence in that furious gaze lashed out at her. "I-I went looking for you earlier and found the d-door open and..."

He set her down, but didn't release her. His fingers instead curled tightly around her upper arms, pinching the scant flesh and she cried out in pain as he bent her over backward. "You are not a very practiced liar, Louise. No, not at all," he said conversationally, his anger spurring him on, his hesitancy over touching her gone like smoke in a breeze. She started to whimper as his hands slid up her arms slowly and came to rest around her neck, squeezing lightly. He bent down and whispered into her ear. "You were not invited to enter this room." he hissed, his breath stirring the hairs at her temple. "I'm quite sure I would remember doing so if I had."

She finally found the courage to move, and her hands crept up to his thin shoulders and pushed at him with a strength born from desperation. Something was loose in the room; a capering, salacious imp bent on her destruction. Erik's breath was coming quicker, and his mouth was perilously close to hers. She wasn't sure which of them was shaking more, but she let out a squeal when he yanked her even closer to his gaunt frame.

"Why are you so naughty, Louise...hmm? I have cared for you unfailingly, have I not? And this is how you repay me? Through subterfuge and lies?" He pressed a cold hand to one of her cheeks. "Perhaps you need punished! Yes, that's it! You need a small _reminder _of who is in control here. Unfortunately it is _not _you," and she could hear the smile creeping into his voice.

"Please, Erik. I am s-sorry. I was wrong. I know it now," and let out a sharp scream when his cold lips brushed against her neck. "Don't do this..." Her terror mounted, clogging her throat as she tried to stop his descent into madness.

"Hush now. Hush." he soothed, and pushed her up against the wall as his hands took liberties with her that no one else had ever done- until that night in the alley. With a groan, he put his lips to her throat and suckled the tender flesh of her neck, trailing his mouth down to her pulse point fluttering like the wings of a trapped bird, as she trembled uncontrollably in his arms. His lower body pressing her into the wall, his fingers were free to roam at will, and they knew exactly where they wanted to go. Her small breasts were soon beneath his eager hands being kneaded and stroked almost reverently.

"I will not hurt you, Louise. Please, _Please_...do not cry." he pleaded, despising himself all the while his desire for her raged hot and painful. "Please..."

"I _hate_ you. I will always hate you for this..." Her words were whispered brokenly, but held a finality to them that at last got through to the cavorting beast running rampant inside of him. She had trusted him.

Moaning in shame and regret, he stilled, and closed his eyes. "Louise..."

Frantic now, she didn't hear the remorse or feel the loosening of his hands from her bruised flesh. Her mind was focused on one thing only- how to stop his onslaught. Her desperate fingers curled into talons beneath the edge of the mask and ripped it free.

Time shifted within her mind, the seconds frozen into a horrible tableau. She wasn't even aware of her panicked screams as she stared into the face of death. It was a nightmare visage come to ghastly life, as the thing which used to be her friend, let out a roar of pain and anger. He pushed her away instinctively, wanting only to flee now, and propelled the girl backward with such force, one foot was torn loose from her shoe. The horror was as yet before her eyes, imprinted there for all time... the nose-less countenance of a living corpse, dead even longer than those wretched victims near the Madeleine had been, the skin a ghastly shade and the bones highlighted as they were, by flesh stretched and pulled torturously into a drumhead.

Her last thought before consciousness left her wasn't quite sane. I shouldn't have taken his book, she reasoned, as the back of her head connected with the wall.

* * *

><p>She was standing by the duck pond in the Bois de Boulogne, tossing whole bread slices with abandon to the mother duck and her babies. The sky was a brilliant blue, the sun casting shards of light over the water, and she grinned, watching them fondly as they dipped their heads gracefully, scooping up the soggy pieces before they sank to the bottom.<p>

"Louise! Stop that at once! That is the only food we have and you're wasting it, ungrateful child!"

"No! I _won't_ stop! I'm so tired of bread, mama. I want chicken croquettes and apple tarts...croissants a-and milk, mama! Lots and lots of milk." She turned around and looked at her mother who was approaching her slowly. "Let the ducks have it." she said stubbornly, her mouth set in a mulish pucker.

"Give me the bread, Louise. _Now_." Her gaze was unsmiling as she regarded her daughter, her normally placid face sharp with censure. "You don't want me to get upset, do you? You know what happens when I get angry."

Louise shook her head and watched as her mother came closer, her light brown hair escaping the bun at the back of her neck, and soft tendrils of it blowing in the warm breeze. She was smiling now and the girl felt happy being with her mama again. She hadn't died after all, and Louise had not seen her broken body, bloody and unmoving in the middle of the street. It had been a terrible dream, that's all, but a frown wrinkled her brow as her mother drew near. The girl saw the yellow-gray skin of her mother's face- the bones of her cheeks abnormally high, and she started to back away. High keening noises escaped her mouth when her mother's straight nose was replaced with something quite different.

She began to scream in earnest when Mama held out a hand with unnaturally long fingers, her hazel eyes...no, her _yellow _eyes beseeching her daughter to stop screaming. "Louise?" she said in that beautifully pitched and beguiling voice. "Child? Don't be frightened. Please don't be frightened, I beg you..."

The girl opened her eyes with a gasp, the ache in the back of her head making her nauseous. Erik's masked face swam into view, and she scrambled back on the sofa in panic, expecting his arms to once again try and claim her. "Don't touch me." she said faintly, never taking her eyes off of him.

He looked at her sorrowfully, but nonetheless leaned forward with a cup in one hand. "I wish only to ease the pain I caused you. _Please_...let me help you."

The pain won out and she raised herself up, pushing his hand away when he moved to support her. He made a sound deep in his throat and timidly handed her the cup. With trembling fingers she clutched it and managed to swallow half of the bitter tonic.

"Erik has been a gentleman all of this time," he whispered to himself, "all this time..." He had listened to the girl crying desolately, and felt one of her small hands on his chest trying to shove him away. Her weeping finally worked its way through the anger which had twisted into a terrible desire. His considerable self-control had slipped badly, leading to this debacle.

Her thin body lying in a heap against the wall had galvanized him to action. Replacing his mask lest she awake and see him again, he scooped the unconscious girl into his arms and carried her to the parlor, settling her onto the sofa. Kneeling beside her, his now gentle fingers examined the back of her head, disgusted with himself when he felt the knot there, the skin thankfully unbroken. He fetched a blanket and covered her snugly with it, then built a warm fire using the last kitchen chair. He took his distress and self-hatred out on the chair by smashing it against the wall. Louise watched his violent movements with suspicion, until he squatted and started collecting the pieces, and she shivered watching those strong hands. Hands which had recently been guilty of stroking her body with such abandon, and now fed the painted wood to the flames, where it sizzled and popped.

He kept his eyes on the growing fire, having no wish to see the girl's accusatory and hostile gaze, but he could _feel _it scorching into his back. With any luck, they would soon be long gone from Paris. After tonight's events, it was imperative to get the girl away from the danger in the opera house- away from _him_.

He got to his feet and went back to her, noting the stiffening of her body as he approached. Slowly he reached out for the cup, and studiously avoided touching her, speaking quietly. "I'm going to fix you some tea. Feeling warmer now?" and he indicated the fireplace and the nice blaze going there. Waiting for a reply, and getting none, he hurried on. "Our...our last chair, Louise. It's gone to a worthy cause, I dare say." When she obstinately remained silent, he cleared his throat and stood awkwardly for a moment, wishing she was already gone. "Uh, the tea first, I think, then we will...we will talk."

Her hooded eyes followed him from the room, unable in her present state of mind to notice his bowed shoulders or lackluster tone. She had looked at him earlier and saw those awful eyes filled with a gleaming avarice- felt his hands skimming her breasts as his hot breath rasped excitedly against her ear, his desire for her very obvious, pressed as it was against her. She swallowed hard, her throat feeling raw from her screams at seeing the horror behind the mask. The sight was forever burned onto her retinas. She turned her head away and closed her eyes as weak tears clung to her lashes. Friend? A trembling had taken hold of her limbs and for once it wasn't from the cold of the cellars. No. Absolutely not. And she realized it was more than time to leave this dreary place.

When Erik returned with her tea, she was dozing lightly. She awoke when he moved the side table closer to the sofa and set the cup down on it. "Can you manage?" At her slight nod, he took a seat in his upholstered chair and watched as Louise carefully sat up and reached for the cup. "How is your head?"

"It hurts," and she took a sip of the hot tea. She couldn't quite manage to meet his eyes, speaking to her lap instead. "I can't stay here, Erik. Not anymore...surely you realize that now?" She at last found the courage to look at him. "Please allow me to leave."

He was planning that very thing, but having it voiced by her caused a hurt that went deep. She was afraid of him now, and instead of the warmer feelings she had developed for him, they were back to her first days in his home, only much, much worse- she despised him as well.

He kept his tone even, knowing he had brought this on himself. Her hatred had been well earned. "You told me months ago that you had an aunt in Naples, yes?"

"My Tante Maria." She eyed him curiously. "Why?"

"Aside from...from recent events, it would seem an excellent time for you to go to her. The opera house is a powder keg waiting for one word to light the fuse. It's dangerous for you to be here."

"In more ways than one." she muttered to herself.

"Yes." he agreed, Erik's uncanny hearing picking up what wasn't meant for his ears. "As soon as you are able, we will depart for Orleans."

"Orleans? Why there?"

"Transport anywhere in this confounded city is out of the question- just walking out may prove hazardous for us. It is nearly seventy miles to Orleans and we will no doubt have to walk part of the way," he rubbed his bony chin thoughtfully, "at least until I can procure a horse for our use. You will board the train there and travel by rail for part of the way to Lyons, then coach for a goodly distance. It will be a long journey, Louise, but necessary." He turned away from her and added wood to the fire.

"You've been there before?"

"I lived there for a time. I once did building restorations as well as constructing houses for intolerant and dull minded people." He paused and stared at something only he could see. "Well, I did until word leaked out that a monster was loose among them. My business suffered for it and I decided Paris would suit me better." He dropped his eyes from hers and rose to his feet. "If the theatre ever does get finished, I will end my days here. I seem to be what others have always maintained- something to be avoided."

Louise said nothing. Her head ached and she felt sore from his clutching hands. She had done little more than poke her nose where it didn't belong- Erik had done the rest. He was a product of the cruelty exacted on him by his parents and many others, she well knew. But that didn't excuse him for his deplorable behavior- she felt no pity for him now.

"I will be ready whenever you wish to go. The sooner, the better, I think." she said quietly.

The masked man nodded as he stood up, raking a hand through his tousled hair. "Rest for now. I will fix some dinner shortly. We should try and leave by tomorrow night- if your head is better." He paused a moment before he left the room and regarded her solemnly. "Louise, I...I..." He cleared his throat and tried again, but the apology sat stubbornly on his tongue, refusing to move. How does one ask forgiveness for such a transgression? For pawing her like some randy libertine with no thought expended on the girl's wishes? He drew air into his lungs and let it out slowly. "You won't ever see my ...my face again, I promise you."

He abruptly changed subjects. "It will take us some time getting out of the city, but if we are careful we should have little difficulty." Privately, he thought it could be harrowing getting around the French army. He would do a little scouting later tonight and find a viable route out of Paris.

She watched his retreating back as Erik went into the kitchen. His attitude had gone through a complete change from the man she had dealt with only an hour past, and to say he puzzled her, would be understating it a bit. Once again she had the distinct impression that she was dealing with different men at different times; _this _Erik was a caring, thoughtful man, the direct opposite of the aggressive and frightening individual seemingly intent on stealing her virginity.

His face. My God, his _face_. She could see that ruin in her mind's eye every time she looked at him- she had often wondered what the mask hid- the knowledge of it now was something she wanted to erase from her memory forever. Scrub it clean and forget the horror of it. But it needn't be an issue- if he were to be believed, she would never see it again. She could only hope that was true.

As her eyes started to drift closed, she thought about leaving Paris and joining her aunt in Naples. Her father's older sister, the siblings had been very close, and the few times she met Tante Maria were pleasant ones. It would feel odd though, leaving Erik and perhaps never seeing him again, and she was eager to do just that, but a tiny unacknowledged corner of her heart was already in mourning.

* * *

><p>"All right, Louise?" he called over his shoulder as they crested the small knoll. She had turned back to see the last of her home, the city where she had been born and lived with her parents. Where she had hoped to become a famous dancer and win the accolades of an adoring public. Childish dreams, she snorted. If anything, her future more than likely held marriage to a law clerk or maybe a small landholder. And children no doubt. Her mouth turned down- the thought of motherhood did nothing for her.<p>

With a bitter sigh, she turned around and answered him. "Yes. I'm all right. I was only saying goodbye."

"Once we get past Belleville, we will stop for the night. I'll give you something for the pain, and you may rest."

Her head _had_ begun to ache a little, but she had said nothing to him. "How did you know?"

He shrugged. "Because you are stubborn and won't admit to it." He said nothing more, but understood that aside from any lingering pain, she was melancholy. The girl was leaving her old life behind and walking into the unknown with a man she no longer trusted.

She fell into step beside him and clutched the wool coat closer to her throat. This morning upon awakening, she found it lying across the arm of the sofa. It was a dull blue and well worn, but it was better than what she'd had. She no longer inquired as to where he _borrowed _it; he never answered her and she no longer cared to know. But Erik had surprised her yet again. One moment she was terrified of the man, and the very next, grateful for some small kindness. His contradictory nature was dizzying.

She had thanked him stiffly for the coat, her pleasure subdued, and he turned away, continuing to gather supplies for their journey. "You'll have need of it where you are going." he said gruffly.

Sitting on the table was a leathery brown bag of sorts with a nozzle at the narrow end, and sporting a faded red cord the length of it. Louise pointed at it curiously. "What's that?"

He picked it up and handed it to her and she stroked a finger over the smooth leather. "It's called a zahato. Basque herders use them for water," he smiled his rare smile, "wine more often that not, but it's made from goatskin and lined with a goat's bladder."

It's shaped curiously." she said, holding it up and studying the narrow end.

"They drink from it a certain way...ah, what they call zurrust- um, to drink down in large gulps. You'll be using it as well." He watched her as she turned it over in her hands, thankful to have her actually speaking to him somewhat normally again. "I'll show you how the Basque and the Romani people use it. It's a good item to have when traveling. Empty, it doesn't take up much room, and full it has enough water...or wine for a few days."

She set the bottle down and glanced at him. "Have you been many places, Erik?"

"Yes." he said dismissively and continued packing the few things they were taking.

They headed southwest out of the city and aside from the bump on her head and some soreness, Louise felt good. Leaving was surprisingly easy. What troops they encountered were bivouacked for the night and exhausted- both sides. Getting past the sentries with the masked man was not nearly as nerve racking as it would have been were she alone; Erik had a way of moving that was ghost-like, and he instilled in her the need to follow suit.

The worst moment came when they reached the edge of the city proper and entered the Paris community of Bellville. The neighborhood was one of the staunchest supporters of the Commune and they both stepped lightly. A neat stone cottage sitting by itself, erupted into a flurry of barks as a large dog standing near the front door caught their scent. They were moving silently down the opposite side of the road when the animal broke into a run, heading straight for them. Erik dropped the cloth bag slung over one shoulder, and grabbed Louise by the arm, moving back from the road into the waiting shadows of the trees. He quickly stepped in front of her, and peeking from behind his back, she watched in fear as the thin Punjab lasso appeared magically in his left hand.

"Stay behind me." he said shortly, brooking no argument from the girl.

Added to the loud barks were the angry shouts of a man who had appeared on the front doorstep. "Here, you damned devil! Viens! Leo! _Leo!_ Come back here!"

Louise had unthinkingly grabbed on to the back of Erik's coat, bunching the material in both hands. If it bothered him, he never let on- his eyes remained locked on the hound, but she heaved a grateful sigh when the dog skidded to a stop and stared at them, a low growl emanating from him as he stood with massive head lowered, torn between them and his master's summons. One more irate shout, and the dog reluctantly turned and loped back to the house.

"A wise choice, my fine fellow." Erik murmured, his stance relaxing when man and dog disappeared into the house.

And now they were away from the last lights of Paris and moving southwest on the road to Orleans, the only sounds those of the wind soughing through the trees, and the soft cooing of doves settling in for the night. Darkness surrounding them, she glanced up at the tall man beside her and wondered, not for the first time, why he was doing this when he could have just as easily, washed his hands of her.

"Erik?"

"Yes?"

"You could have let me go alone." He looked down at her, his amber eyes intent on hers, and she continued rapidly, "I-I'm thankful that you are here, but...you didn't have to leave your home." Suddenly shy, she looked down at her feet. "Why are you?" Their relationship had changed since the night she went into the room of mirrors; where once they had felt comfortable around one another, Louise's suspicion and fear ruled instead. The curiosity over the strange room that got her into so much trouble, still remained, but now it would never be satisfied and Erik offered no explanation. She was hesitant to bring it up again.

They had called an unofficial truce, and their awkward moments had been many; Louise couldn't help but look over her shoulder whenever he stepped into the room, and the masked man took notice. He in turn made certain to give her a wide berth; her look of revulsion was plain, whether she meant for him to see it or not, and so they tiptoed around each other while readying for the journey. But now their wooden treatment of each other seemed to melt a little more with every mile they walked, until Louise was feeling more charitable toward her companion, although she hadn't forgiven him.

He stared at her for so long she became uncomfortable, his steps slowing until they both came to a halt beside the road. She met his look unflinching, and for the first time since viewing his unspeakable face, it wasn't an issue for her. He was simply Erik.

He shrugged and said stiffly. "It's not a great mystery. I have business to conduct in Orleans. The war has curtailed many of my activities, but this is as good a time as any, no? Why not see you there safely as well?" He cleared his throat and thrust his hands into his pockets. Louise hid a smile when he scuffed the toe of his shoe into the dirt, much like a young boy caught out by his mother. "That's all there is to it, so don't think I am doing this for your sake alone."

"No, Erik. I would _never _believe that of you." she replied, trying to keep the grin from her face, and failing. "All the same, thank you." They stood in awkward silence for a moment and she stared up at him, the moonlight giving his eyes an eerie shine- and felt the first stirrings of forgiveness.

* * *

><p><strong>Mmkay- he was a bad boy and hated himself for it. Do you forgive him? No? Yes? Let's hope he can remain a nice guy while they're following the yellow brick road to Orleans. Coming up- Two for the Road. No, this is not Albert Finney and Audrey Hepburn :)<strong>


	10. Chapter 10

Once clear of Belleville , they made a camp of sorts in a pine grove situated beside a narrow stream. While Louise collected sticks for a small fire, Erik removed the curved zahato from his shoulder and filled it with fresh water then returned to their camp.

"You must be thirsty. Here, let me show you," and holding on to the red strap, he hoisted the bag above his head and tipped it over, his lips never once coming into contact with the nozzle. Louise watched silently as he drank, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed, every drop of water going neatly into his mouth, and she was eager to try it for herself.

"I can do _that_," she said, and took it from him.

"Not difficult, no, but there is a knack to it. Here, let me..."

"I think I can manage." Louise said dismissively, and held it up as he had done. She opened her mouth in anticipation, upended the skin, and snorted when the water went everywhere _except_ her mouth. She sputtered and gasped, blinking furiously as the cool liquid sprayed her eyes and went up her nose. She heard a shout of laughter and turned in surprise to her companion. It was a beautiful laugh; warm, pleasant- contagious.

His eyes shone with amusement. "That was _very_ clever of you! Drinking and bathing at one and the same time. The problem is, you didn't do either one very well."

Louise found herself laughing with him while swiping at her wet face. "Yes. I always have a plan! And most of the time it doesn't work, but you are in the right of it," she said ruefully, "there _is _a knack to it, and I should have listened to you." She shrugged out of her coat and wiped ineffectually at the water.

Erik, once again perfectly sober, took the coat from her and draped it over the branch of a nearby tree. "It's not all that wet. It will dry quickly, don't worry." He poured some of the pain tincture into a cup and gave it to her, then knelt down and added more sticks to the fire. He cut his eyes up at her. "Forgive me for laughing, but the look on your face was beyond price."

She swallowed the bitter tonic quickly, and looked up at him. "I like hearing you laugh." she said simply.

He cleared his throat self-consciously and stood up, then reached for the water skin. He walked over to her. "If you will allow me, I will show you how it is done so you may drink _safely_."

Louise watched his approach. It was hard to forget what took place only yesterday, but she knew it had to be put behind her now. She would watch him, and strive to do nothing to aggravate him. His descent into dangerous behavior had at first stemmed from anger, and _then _changed into something else. Erik must have sensed where her thoughts were going, for he halted a few steps away and regarded her carefully.

They had a long road ahead of them yet, and he needed to make her understand that she needn't fear him anymore. He would deliver the girl to Orleans and return as quickly as possible to Paris in the hope that the theatre would be spared. "You mustn't fear me, child. I make no excuses- my behavior was deplorable and will not be repeated. On that, you have my word- if you will accept it." he uttered quietly. "I don't wish for your hatred. I-I have had more than enough of that particular emotion my entire life."

Louise looked into his eyes and sighed in relief. She saw only the truth shining from them; if he had wanted to ravish her, he could have done so with impunity in the cellar and no one would have been the wiser. For months they had lived in relative harmony and virtual isolation. She had no one and he knew it. That he hadn't followed through with his intent was a good sign of his innate decency, and she felt that perhaps she could breathe a little easier.

"I do accept it, Erik." she replied solemnly, knowing she had very little choice at the moment. "But before I become too parched, will you show me...?" She gestured to the goatskin in his hand.

He walked the rest of the way to her, and without touching the girl, placed it on one of her thin shoulders, and proceeded to teach her the rudiments of drinking from the skin. Once Louise slaked her thirst, she looked at the masked man in triumph. "I did it!" she said, pleased with her new-found talent.

His chuckle was rich and deep. "I had my doubts, but you have vanquished them quite nicely. Now go refill what you dumped on yourself."

After a supper of dried meat, and potatoes baked in the hot coals of their campfire, Louise walked a distance from the camp and readied herself for the night. She listened closely to the night sounds, the quiet and peace of the countryside after war weary Paris was balm to her spirit. She returned and settled beside the fire, and Erik handed her a steaming cup of tea.

"It is nearly the last of it, but I thought you might like something hot tonight. Tomorrow hopefully, we can buy a few things."

"Yes. That will be nice." She glanced at her masked companion, then at the glittering stars looking cold and infinitely remote. "It's a great adventure, isn't it? I mean to say, traveling by day and seeing different places- sleeping in the open like this."

His take on traveling was quite different from hers, but he said nothing for a moment, content just to be sitting companionably with her. Finally, "How is the pain now?"

"Better," and Louise felt the lump on the back of her head as she sipped gratefully at the hot tea, wrapping her chilled fingers around the cup. The night was cooling off after the heat of the day, but it was a pleasant change from the cold of the cellars. Erik sat down across from her, leaning back against a fallen log, and stretched out his long legs, crossing them negligently at the ankles. He stared pensively at the night sky.

Louise regarded the heavens and mouthed a prayer that her life was about to turn a corner into something better. It was long overdue. "Are you of the Catholic faith, Erik?"

"My...parents were. I am nothing."

She looked at him in shock. "But aren't you afraid of purgatory?"

He shrugged. "Who's to say that this isn't my purgatory right now? If not for your presence, this could be my own particular Hell."

"B-But everyone must believe in their redemption. And if not that, the structure of religion has comforting symbols and practices. There is beauty and safety in its precepts."

"Yes, so much safety, you were in harm's way...how many times? Your faith is admirable, but even the most pious man has doubts. There is a philistine and an atheist in us all. There is one inside of you, although I am sure you would not admit to it. Even _me_, Louise. Even Erik."

He nodded his head at the star filled heavens, then settled his yellow gaze on her. The effect of his masked face and nocturnal eyes out in the open was startling- it was as though a large predator had loped out of the woods to sit near the fire with her. "There are times though, I can almost believe something else exists in the universe. _Almost. _That is Ursa Major. Right there." he said, pointing above their heads. "It is from the Latin and means great bear. The ancient Greeks associated the constellation with a beautiful maiden named Callisto, who while napping beneath an enormous tree in the forest, caught the roving eye of Jupiter, god of the heavens. He was smitten with her and they became lovers. From their union came a son, but Juno the wife of Jupiter, became jealous of the lovely Callisto, and to punish her, changed the girl into a...ah, into a...a b-bear."

He watched her rapt face and tender mouth, seeing her for what she was- a child. A child who's innocence he had nearly stolen. She had felt nice in his arms for those few scant moments, and in his anger, thought to steal a kiss from her. He nearly laughed. The gargoyle wanted a kiss. He was so starved for the touch of another, he had lost his head. He moaned in shame. His bloody hands and evil deeds nearly performed another atrocity- the sultana would have been proud of him. His mind filled with self-hate. "Rosy hours are gone now. They're gone..." he muttered.

"Erik?" Louise wondered at his grim slash of a mouth, and the sounds of distress issuing from his throat. His words had stuttered to a halt and he merely sat and stared at her- _through_ her. "Are you all right?"

His head snapped up and he yanked his thoughts savagely away from those days forged in hell. "She will not win. I _won't_ let her win. I am sorry." he whispered, his tormented eyes resting on the girl's face. "So very sorry..."

The look he turned on her was bright with suffering, and she reached a hand out to him, only to think better of it, and let it drop back into her lap. "Who won't win?" she asked him softly.

He shook his head. "It's...nothing," and dragged his gaze away from her, looking at the deep bowl of the sky again, and with a shudder, gathered up the loose threads of the tale. "Callisto's son, Arcas was...was adopted and became a hunter. One day while hunting deep in the forest, Callisto was overjoyed to see her son, and rushed toward him eagerly, but the man thought he was being attacked by a bear, and shot an arrow at his mother. Jupiter watching from above, saw the arrow meant to kill his lover, and stopped it from piercing her. To save mother and son from the wrath of Juno, he changed Arcas into a bear as well, grabbed them by their stubby tails, and hurled them both into the heavens so they could live peacefully among the stars."

Louise was enraptured not only by the story, but by the lulling quality of his warm and silky voice. She stared into the star strewn sky and looked with wonder at the constellation. "I see them! It's Callisto and Arcas." She clapped her hands and grinned in delight. "That was wonderful! You have a true gift, Erik. My father used to tell me stories when I was a child."

He had to smile at that. "Yes, such a very long time ago." he said gently.

Her sigh was wistful. "It sometimes feels like it. Cosette always loved a tale. She would have l-loved... she would have...""

He watched as her drowsy smile faltered then died, and murmured quietly, "We will be on the road before daybreak. Time to sleep." He put more wood on the fire and stretched out beside it. "We should reach the village of Melun sometime tomorrow and can provision there. Does the thought please you, Louise?"

She smiled sadly in the darkness as she laid down across from him. Her grief for the loss of those dear to her, was sharp and poignant as she wandered further from her home and into a new life. "I look forward to it," as a lone tear slipped from between her lashes. The girl closed her eyes and knuckled them impatiently, all of a sudden exhausted, but stubbornly she thought of something nice.

A town tomorrow! A town with real food. Her mouth watered at the thought, as her hunger tried to pull her down into dreams of thick meaty stews and light as air pastries. Her lids were heavy with drowsiness, but a niggling thought from earlier in the evening wouldn't allow her to rest just yet.

"Erik?" she called softly.

"Yes?"

"I don't hate you." She waited for a response, and not receiving any, closed her eyes.

He heard her steady breathing and knew she had at last given herself up to sleep. He turned away and slipped the mask from his face, and slowly put a hand to his ravaged features. "But you should, Louise. Oh, yes. You should..."

* * *

><p>The afternoon was well advanced when they at last trudged into Melun. Louise begged for a few minutes to freshen her sweaty face and grubby hands, and impatiently Erik permitted it.<p>

He turned and watched the girl as she hurried through her hasty wash. "_You _may fill it next time if you are going to bathe in it." he said irritably.

He took the skin and hoisted it onto his shoulder, while Louise picked up the food sack. "I only used a little," she said reasonably, "but I'll refill it. I don't mind." Erik abruptly turned and walked away in his mile eating stride, Louise hurrying to catch up, eager to explore the village.

It was on the small side as towns went, but there were several stores and Louise was excited to see a pastry shop sign above one of them. Erik for his part, wished only to find a livery in the blasted place and see about getting a horse, steal or buy, whichever came first. He was quite used to traveling on foot after years of wandering, but matching his long gait with that of the girl's was frustrating and time consuming. He kept turning his mind back to Paris, wondering anxiously if the opera house still stood. With every step, he called himself every kind of fool for leaving.

He was becoming out of sorts, wishing the girl already gone so he could return to Paris. But his mood wasn't caused by that alone. People. The variety that stared at him in avid curiosity, and after a second shocked look, dropped their eyes and hurried on. He abhorred the bright light of day, and the gawking stares he received from every direction.

"There's a patisserie just up the street, Erik. Might we go there first?" She was eagerly looking around at the neat little village with its sidewalks swept and free of clutter, buildings clean and bright, their walls whitewashed and cared for. She sighed, relieved to see the streets absent of bomb craters, and bodies lying like rag dolls flung there by a giant petulant hand, or the smoking rubble of homes gutted by fire. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. No starving women or children with haunted eyes too big for their gaunt faces.

He tugged his cap down to his eyes and turned to her feeling the growing need to lash out at someone. The girl would do very well. "You have a one track mind and I find it tiresome. Your penchant for sweets is unbecoming and ridiculous, Louise. We have need of _food, _not frivolity. I suggest you remember that."

He turned away and quickened his pace, his thoughts becoming blacker with each step- each curious stare. He felt exposed and vulnerable beneath the bright blue sky, and wished only for the cool blessed shadows of evening. He was a night creature and craved the dark much like any nocturnal animal would- daylight only served to weaken him.

It was on the tip of her tongue to say something biting to him, but stopped herself just in time. His mood was already belligerent, and she had no wish to make it worse. She therefore followed him meekly into the butcher's shop, so used to Erik's sinister appearance, she never gave it a second thought anymore. The abnormal had become normal to her as long as she never had to see his face again. But suddenly their oddness was more readily apparent; men didn't usually wear masks, and young girls only went to town when their clothes were clean and starched, their hair neat and tidy. All activity came to a halt, as they observed the strange man and shabby girl approach the wooden counter.

"Monsieur?" The butcher whose name was Francois, looked nervously at the faceless man looming threateningly over everyone in the room.

"I need a few cuts of meat, the bacon there, and some of that beef." pointing with a skeletal finger to the case beside the counter. "A pound of each should do."

"I'll be surprised if Francois doesn't throw him out of here, Marta. Would you _look_ at him? Bold as brass, he is, and hiding his face. Why, do you think?"

Marta stared hard at the rigid back of the man, and shrugged her shoulders. "Alphonse said we were getting too much riff-raff from Paris." She looked at the drab girl beside the scarecrow, then back at the man and hissed, "They're a seedy pair, and he's just downright hideous."

Louise heard the loud whispers behind her and her face flamed. If she could hear them, she was quite sure Erik did as well. Which was proven when he turned to the two middle-aged women and gave them a slow appraisal meant to insult. "I assure you, madame, that the mask does not hide a handsome face anymore than a certain _lady's_ garment can mask a deplorable figure."

The women stared at him, mouths agape, shocked that a man, and a stranger at that, would mention a woman's unmentionables in a public place. "How dare you!" one of them cried, her bosom swelling in indignation. She regarded him disparagingly, while her companion gave a tug on her arm. "You are an ill-bred jackanapes and not fit to be among decent folk!" She turned to her friend then glanced at the butcher. "What kind of _man_ hides his face in the light of day?"

The others were more sensible, and remained quiet, realizing that the man standing before them was not prone to listen to her rant without reacting to it. Which he was not, as he sidled closer to the woman, forcing her to take a hasty step backward. "What _kind _of man?" his voice softly menacing, and Louise felt a glimmer of sympathy for the woman. "Why, the kind that tends to give shrews such as yourself a wide berth." he sneered. "I may be a jackanapes, but you are indeed a virago of the worst sort. I pity any man willing to put up with your poison tongue."

"_Pity?_" the woman spat, two bright spots of color blooming on her cheeks. "I pity the woman who birthed such a..."

"Y-You pity no one." Louise said, joining the fray, her voice shaking with anger and embarrassment. "You're too full of judgment for that." She had heard enough as her eyes filled with mortified tears, and her heart banged against her chest. She knew she looked a sorry sight with her wan face and faded dress hanging shapeless on her thin frame. She stood alone in the middle of the shop, awkward and gauche- a young girl whom life had dealt some very hard knocks.

Erik chose to do nothing; murder in front of witnesses would only lead to more trouble, but his fingers flexed inadvertently, feeling the soft doughy flesh and underlying bones of her neck as he slowly squeezed the life from her. That would indeed shut her up. He smiled at the vision it conjured, and Marta at last became aware of what she was dealing with, and backed away from him.

This foray back into the normal world only served to show him once more, how hostile it was to anyone different. He forced his burning gaze from her, anger radiating from his unyielding stance, and regarded the flustered butcher. "Hurry it up." he snapped.

Francois gasped in surprise when that masked face turned his way. The tall man had no eyes. He shut his own briefly, then opened them to the same fearful sight. Louise could have told him the reason for it- having seen the cavernous eye sockets from which Erik's unnatural eyes shone.

"I'm quite sure you would like us to leave, monsieur. Fill the order and we will do so." he said, as an unseen muscle worked in one sunken cheek.

The butcher was glad to have something to do besides stare open mouthed at the frightening creature in his store, and hurried to get their cuts of meat.

Marta was being tugged frantically by her companion to the door, but the woman already regretted her outburst; while Erik stared them down, they exited the shop rapidly, thankful to be away from the bizarre man and scruffy girl. Louise walked over to him and put a tentative hand on his arm, feeling the tense band of muscle beneath her fingertips. She gave it a slight squeeze, and he turned and looked down at her in surprise.

"Are you all right?" she whispered.

At his stiff nod, she took the packages from Francois, and Erik dropped the francs into the man's open palm. Turning on his heel, he left the shop, the girl running to keep up with his angry strides. He stopped in front of an open air market, redolent with the odors of exotic spices in large copper bowls, ranged alongside last year's vegetables. He ignored the open stares being given them, and handed the girl some francs.

"I trust you can gather the rest? Bread, some potatoes, and apples if they have them. Tea as well- enough for a few days. I no longer have the stomach for this." he said curtly. "I will meet you on the edge of town, in front of the cemetery gates in one hour, Louise. Do not be late," and left her standing in the middle of the street.

* * *

><p>Juggling her growing pile of foodstuffs, she took another large bite of her apple hurrying now. She had lingered a little too long in the patisserie; the place had been full of customers buying the warm, flaky pastries and Louise waited impatiently, dancing from one foot to the other, glancing out the door every minute or so. She was sure she would see Erik bearing down on her in a rage for having the gall to be one minute late for their rendezvous, but she didn't care. She wanted the apple tart more than she had wanted anything. She was hungry and it reminded her of home- of her mama.<p>

When Louise reached the cemetery gates, she was out of breath and inadvertently squashing the warm loaves of bread cradled in one arm. It was more food than she had seen in months and she felt rich. She reasoned that Erik just needed a good meal to put him in a better frame of mind. But just the thought of him tucking into his dinner with anything other than his usual dour fashion, caused her to snort laughter. _He_ wouldn't know good food if it came up and bit him in the...

"You're late."

She jumped when he spoke, the words clipped and seeming to come from every direction at once, but as she turned awkwardly in a circle, she saw no one. "Erik? I'm s-sorry. I was held up, but I did hurry." she said timidly, no longer as brave as before.

"I've been kicking my heels in this spot for far too long, Louise. I am quite sure I instructed you not to be late, did I not?"

His quiet tone did more to raise the hairs on her nape than any amount of shouting could have done. He was furious. She could only stand there and reiterate. "I'm s-sorry." She stood in the dusk of early evening feeling the fear creeping up on her. "Won't you come out where I can see you?"

"It's a rare thing to have someone requesting my presence, but no matter. Will this do?" and he walked slowly and inexorably toward her with that economy of movement which belonged to him alone. Wraith-like he had appeared magically from behind a crypt smothered in emerald ivy and plump stone angels.

Louise watched his approach as a fine trembling took hold of her limbs. She wasn't afraid of him, she sniffed. Oh yes I am! her heart quailed, as she looked into hostile amber eyes. She no longer wondered about the cause of Erik's moods. She was certain _he _didn't even know.

"Was it worth it, child?" he asked her calmly. He glided up to stand in front of her, not offering to relieve her of any of the packages.

"Yes," and raised her chin a fraction.

"Did you get your pastry?"

"Yes." she said again, feeling miserable and uncertain.

"Come along then," and he set off down the road, not once looking back.

* * *

><p>She put together their evening meal while an icy quiet hung over the small camp. Louise was hungry, but the tense atmosphere took away the satisfaction of having good food to eat after months of deprivation. She could almost hate him for taking that comfort from her. The simple stew she made was filling, but nearly tasteless to her as she kept sneaking occasional looks at her intractable companion. She came to the uncomfortable conclusion that his coldness was far worse than the bite of his caustic tongue. Every time he met her gaze with his unblinking one, she dropped hers quickly and kept her eyes on her plate. At last the torturous meal was finished and she set the apple tart in front of her on the flat rock she was using as a table. In anticipation she broke it in half, the aroma of baked apples and cinnamon escaping along with the thick, sugary syrup. She silently held out Erik's portion.<p>

He stared with distaste at her offering as though it were a ball of mud she was handing him, and made no move to take it. Louise pulled her hand back and took a bite of the pastry as her eyes filled with tears. The tart tasted as good as it smelled, and she made short work of it until it was gone. Wiping her sticky hands off on the grass at her feet, she shook her head sadly. "She had no right to say those things to you. No right at all."

He looked up from contemplating his dusty shoes, mildly surprised to find her crying; seeing her tears, he felt the guilt of having been the cause again, but the emotion didn't sit well with him, and he deftly turned it into anger. "Tears, Louise? You are only considered a pariah by association with _me_. I'm sure you will soon rise above my ugly carcass and be glad of it." He surged to his feet and removed his hat, slapping it on his thigh. "And I have no need for you to commiserate with me. It is not welcome and certainly not expected!"

She wiped at her eyes, tired of his sullen behavior. "I wouldn't dream of it. I'm sure you would continue to lump me in with those awful women anyway!"

He squatted down and added more wood to the fire. "I will be greatly relieved when we reach Orleans and I can finally wash my hands of you. I must have been mad to have entertained for one single moment, leaving my home to shepherd a homely chit who is ungrateful as well." he sneered. "You are not worth one jot of my time!"

His mind balked at the harsh words, adjuring him to make everything right again and take them back. He hadn't meant any of it, but his humiliation today in front of the girl had abraded his dignity. For Erik- it never took much. He damned well knew he was his own worst enemy, but she had been a witness to how others viewed him- a thing to be stared at and reviled. Contrarily, he wanted the girl to see him in a better light, and it wasn't going so well. Which was normal for him.

Worried about her uncertain future and footsore from traveling, she was galled beyond endurance, and stung by his venom. "You are hardly a paragon yourself, Erik! Why, you are the ug..." She bit hard on her tongue, realizing almost too late that he would never see the incongruity of calling her homely when _he_ was the one wearing a mask. She recovered quickly, hoping she could skim over her fast and loose tongue. "Why wait? Leave now, for I certainly don't wish to be a...a b-burden to you any longer than necessary." She regretted those words as well, but stubbornly she wouldn't take them back.

He stared hard at her for one very long moment, then turned away. "Do not tempt me! I may just take you up on that." he warned. His search for a horse that afternoon had been fruitless and he wasn't looking forward to another dreary day of walking beneath a hard blue sky. Perhaps she _would_ be better off without him.

Quietly she cleaned up their dishes and readied herself for the night. Erik had stalked off somewhere, and Louise hurried back to their camp, wrapping herself up in the blanket. The warm fire and cool night made her drowsy, but sleep was elusive with her adrenalin still flowing from the caustic words he'd flung at her. She contemplated making the rest of the trip alone and it terrified her. They still had miles to travel yet, and that meant at least another night or two on the road. The thought of doing it by herself, sent shivers down her back. He might be moody and arrogant, but he was a seasoned traveler and as self-sufficient as they came.

The night wore on and eventually a full belly and tired body weighted her eyelids down, and she could stay awake no longer. And when Louise awoke with the first birdsong of the morning, she was alone.

* * *

><p><strong>Whew! The man is snarky. Someone ought to smack some sense into him. Any takers? One step forward and two steps back. Rinse and repeat. Next up- <em>One<em> for the Road. Or is it two? I forget...**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N Happy Valentine's Day, everyone! Not too many takers on smacking some sense into Erik, which is just as well. I'd lose my readers and possibly Erik. He'd be so busy chasing all of you, he'd disappear entirely from this story :) Then what? Let's go see what's cookin' with the dynamic duo.**

* * *

><p>He stared at the men surrounding him in a circle and knew this was going to end badly. All that was missing were the stones and cudgels. Years ago, as a homeless child, the first drop of his blood from a thrown rock usually emboldened a crowd intent on doing him bodily harm. They had swarmed him then, and it was unsurprising that some of those in the mob had been women and girls who had proceeded to beat Erik badly before leaving him lying in the road, his blood soaking into the dirt. That they went to their homes ashamed of their part in the attack, did nothing for him as he crawled off into the bushes much like a wounded animal will, to hide and tend his hurts. Those days were long gone, but he didn't relish more of his blood spilled. He focused on every one of the men staring him down before they decided to teach him manners- which he had no wish to learn.<p>

He had awakened early and watched the girl sleep the sleep of the innocent. He envied her. His own rest was nearly always ruined by vivid and disturbing memories invading his dreams, led by an army comprised solely of the dead. At times so exhausted, he would fall asleep over his music sheets, waking up stiff and disoriented. He often thought he would pay a king's ransom for one night's sleep with no dreams- no gut wrenching terror.

He propped himself up on one elbow and studied her face relaxed in slumber. She must despise him now after the hurtful things he said to her- for his unfair need to use her as a stand-in for the rest of humanity. But it seemed that for every one good thing he did for her, he performed several that were not. He was not used to dealing with people in a kindly manner, let alone a young impressionable girl child. Erik got quietly to his feet, his mind made up. She would sleep another hour or so, and with any luck he would return with a freshly baked apple tart for her breakfast- his peace offering to her. He smiled bitterly- _again. _If he had learned anything about Louise, it was that forgiveness of his transgressions ran through her stomach.

The patisserie was indeed open by the time he walked the fifteen minutes into the village. The main street was already busy with matrons doing the marketing, and men getting town business out of the way before their long days officially began. He went through his routine- making certain mask was straight and hat pulled low. He sighed. Anything to get her to smile at him again.

He slithered in the bake shop door and tensely waited at the counter while the women around him moved away like receding waves onshore, leaving him stranded high and dry. He was accustomed to it. One in particular got his attention. She hung back from the others in the shop and backed slowly to the door. She was minus her friend from the butcher's, and for a change she seemed disinclined to say anything to him. Ah, he reasoned- it is a new day and she wishes to keep it pleasant. Lovely woman, he thought sourly.

He bought the girl two of the tarts and a croissant as well- he expected a very pretty thank you from her. Over the years, Persia in particular, he had observed children in the market places begging for sweets from their mothers. Louise was a typical child in that respect, with a child's voracious sweet tooth. Amid the usual frank stares, he exited the patisserie and stepping off the sidewalk, started down the street. Blessedly, the sky had lightened only a bit into a morning dark with gray scudding clouds and no sun. He sniffed the air- _rain__-__swollen_ clouds, he amended. He would have to hurry and get her moving before they received a drenching.

"You there."

The men came at him from both sides of the street and he stopped. There were four of them- all well muscled from farm work. The graying man who spoke, glanced behind him and said to the woman from the butcher's, "Is this the one?"

Marta, feeling confident once again with her men surrounding her nodded, her elaborate feathered hat leaning drunkenly to one side, and she shoved it upright with an impatient hand. "Well, of course it is! How many _masked_ men are there running around Melun, Alphonse?" she said scathingly.

Alphonse turned back to Erik and looked at him curiously. "So far my wife hasn't exaggerated, monsieur. She told me you were- _different,_ and very rude to her in the butcher's yesterday- that you threatened her also. Is this true?"

Erik let the bag with the pastries slip through his fingers onto the cobbled street. He would need both hands and the Punjab as well. Killing with the lasso would be a last resort if he could help it- it would be a short, vicious fight with no finesse, only survival. With that in mind, he attempted to reason with the man. "I think your wife is mistaken. There were no threats that I recall, just a slight misunderstanding. My apologies if I gave the wrong impression, madame," and he bowed gracefully in the woman's direction. _Meddling cow. _He appeared relaxed and apologetic, his lanky frame held loosely, but he was ready for violence- it had an annoying habit of turning up wherever he went.

"Don't believe a word he says! And ask him where that girl has gone. She was with him yesterday. There's something strange with this one! Maybe he murdered her or...or worse! She looked frightened to death the entire time we were in Francois'."

Erik looked at the woman with cold amusement. "What fate could be worse than death, madame?" Seeing the woman's flush of embarrassment and the set of her prudish lips, he stroked his chin. "Ah, yes, yes. I could see how you would view something like that as much worse. Eh, Alphonse?" he said slyly.

"Where is the child?" Alphonse ignored this small exchange and glanced around the street where a small crowd of on-lookers had gathered.

Erik noticed them too, and the whispers were becoming louder, turning into an ever-growing angry murmur. _Oh, yes. So very happy to be hearing that particular noise again. The slumbering beast awake__n__s._

"Come with us, monsieur. We will let the gendarmes settle this. I'm sure they would like to see who is under that," and he gestured to the mask.

"I am not accompanying you anywhere. I have done nothing wrong, and I beg you to reconsider. Mind your own business- and teach her to as well." he retorted, his anger climbing at the stupidity of this woman and the persecution which always greeted him no matter where he traveled.

Marta had half a mind to insist her husband back down from this man; he was not reacting the way anyone normal would, challenged as he was by four men. He was too calm and composed- she was quite certain he was no stranger to confrontations. Even in the presence of her husband and three strapping sons, she felt uneasy from that animal-like gaze, and her opinion of the man was borne out when she heard that smooth and silky purr speaking to her alone. Frozen in place, she could only listen in horror as he commanded her attention as nothing else ever had.

"_I will not hesitate to snuff the lives of your husband and sons, madame. Surely you realize that fact by now?._ _I__ can do it too. Erik has had a lot of practice over the years. Care to see your loved ones fighting for breath as I throttle them? It is not a sight fit for a grand lady such as yourself. Oh, my word no. They will gasp for air and thrash uncontrollably as their features become something alien and repugnant to you. You don't want to see such a thing, madame, I assure you. It only takes seconds to end a life, you know, and then you will be widowed and childless in one fell swoop, and it will be at your instigation. Tell him the truth of the matter before it's too late. Your decision, Marta."_

"A-Alphonse? Perhaps you should just let him go." She was shaking with terror, and deathly afraid to meet the foul creature's eyes, but in the way one doesn't hesitate to pick at a scab, she raised her eyes to the masked man's and was startled to find his eyes boring into hers.

_"I am waiting, dear lady." _he said in a gentle manner which didn't reflect his killer's heart, and Marta whimpered. She had no idea how he performed this evil magic of speaking only to her, his mouth unmoving, but it was true. No one else seemed to be affected by that maddening whisper. She spoke louder, nearly a panicked shout.

"**Alphonse!**"

He ignored his overbearing wife and Erik was impressed. He rather thought dear Marta would wear on a man's nerves like water works away at stone- inevitably wearing him down until he becomes nothing but a tiny pebble easily crushed. His thin lips moved into a facsimile of a smile and the put upon Alphonse was repulsed. If a wolf could shape its mouth in such a way, it would resemble that ferocious grimace. "No. I think he needs to tell us where the girl has gone," and with a flick of his hand at his sons, they moved in on the masked man. "Please, monsieur. Do not make this any more difficult than it need be," and Erik tensed, poised to strike before they did.

"**Alphonse! **Don't..."

"Papa! _**Papa**_**!**" Everyone turned at the sound of the girl's excited cries.

Erik looked up and watched in bemusement as she approached their intimate little group, and his disturbing grin made another brief appearance. "I'll be damned," and he was quite certain he was.

* * *

><p>Louise had awakened that morning and stretched before turning over to face her masked companion, but his space beside the fire was empty. She had expected to see him sitting quietly as he often did, and she was prepared to give him a little of her cold shoulder as punishment for the harsh words he spit at her last night. Nothing overt- just a tiny bit of censure as a form of protest. His caustic remarks thrown at her in anger, still hurt like a bad tooth. She rubbed at her eyes and looked around their empty little camp. "It means nothing." she whispered into the morning air. "He's filling the skin with water, that's all." He was usually up hours before her, and would sometimes fume at Louise for daring to sleep longer than him. After yesterday though, she was hesitant to see him; his mood had been dark and angry last night, and the bite of his tongue especially hard.<p>

She yawned and got to her feet, shaking out the blanket and folding it carefully. Curiously, her gaze fell on the fire which was just faint embers now, and felt a twinge of unease. Erik usually had a nice fire going when she woke up, the water hot for a cup of tea before beginning their long day. Chewing her lip, she glanced carefully around. The food sack, now with the comforting bulge of actual food in it, was hanging in a tree away from any predators expecting a free meal. The goatskin zaharta was leaning on a rock nearby- as was his blanket, neatly folded on the same rock. Puzzled, she took the rag she used as a towel and headed for the stream to wash the sleep from her eyes.

As Louise splashed water on her face, she recalled the last words she flung at him last night and hurriedly finished, walking quickly back to the camp hoping against hope that he was back. Her uneasiness was growing right along with her fright and she worked hard to calm herself. He took nothing with him, she reasoned, not even a blanket. She knew that Erik needed very little to get back to Paris; he was very self-sufficient and would simply steal what he needed. Perhaps if he were feeling a little guilty for deserting her in the middle of the trip, he would leave her the few things he had, to salve his own conscience. Louise could see him doing just that, because he did indeed have one.

Uncertain about her next move, she decided to walk back to Melun and see if he had returned to the village. Why he would do so after the unpleasantness of yesterday was questionable, and she didn't really think she would find him there. The accompanying fear at the thought, slowed her steps as she trudged past the cemetery. Alone again! Alone again! her feet whispered, picking up the rhythm through the dust of the road, her ears hearing only that- deaf to the trill of larks and thrushes in the alder trees lining the road, her eyes blind to the green of the grass, and the swift moving clouds passing overhead.

Only a few days ago, she would have been happy to rid herself of Erik. He was irascible for the most part, and could go from amiable to dangerous in the time it took her to blink. He had desired her- she was quite certain _that_ state of affairs hadn't changed, but he was hiding it well.

She wasn't completely innocent- couldn't be after two years at the Salle Ventadour. Life backstage in an opera house could at times be as brutal as life on the streets. It was certainly not for the faint-hearted, for their _was _a pecking order, and one must learn it before anything else- even before the five basic positions of ballet are taught. Louise had been put in her place many times by the older dancers, even engaging in a round of hair pulling which she inevitably lost. The older girls liked to talk, and enjoyed the attention of the younger rats, who listened avidly to their sexual adventures. Many of them had lost their virginity early in their teens, and relished telling sordid tales to a captive pubescent audience sprawled gracelessly around them in their pink tutus. Louise had witnessed quite a few of these encounters in dark corners and hallways, warned only of their presence there, by heavy breathing and the faint rustle of clothing being pushed aside. She well knew what Erik wanted from her- he was a man after all, but he had used his considerable discipline, and successfully clamped down on his misplaced ardor. Now he made sure never to touch her, and she could only be grateful for it.

But he could also be sweet, and had proven it time and again that there was gentleness in him as well. He hungered for the better things in life, for the beauty where he could find it, hidden as it was among the dross. She might be young, but she wanted those things too. Some part of her acknowledged this and accepted Erik as her boon companion, despite him being a damaged one. Which was why she couldn't understand his defection. It saddened and angered her that he would abandon her this way.

All these things and more raced through her head as she reached the outskirts of the village. She would stop and ask someone the distance to Orleans- surely they would know. Taking a deep breath, she continued up the road, her steps slowing as she saw the small crowd gathered near the patisserie and several people standing in the middle of the street. One in particular caught and held her eye- he was head and shoulders above them all- a monolith surrounded by those of lesser stature, regally observing the world below him. _Flights of fancy, Louise? _ She snorted. He was obviously in some kind of trouble, judging by the woman shouting angrily, and the masked man's watchful stance.

She looked at the knot of women on the sidewalk and recognized one of them. The very same ill mannered madame from the butcher's- Erik's nemesis. The girl had no clue as to why he came back to the village, but she would do her best to make sure he got out of it. People and her masked man didn't rub along very well; she had seen that with her very own eyes. Instead of feelings of fear and abandonment, she felt energized by the fact that he hadn't left her after all. She was almost happy.

Deciding in an instant what she was going to do, she broke into a run. "Papa! _**Papa!**_" They all turned toward her as she ran straight for Erik, who was still watching the advancing men and catching glimpses of Louise as she made right for him.

She reached him at last, and with only a little hesitation, flung her arms around him, to which he stiffened at the forbidden contact. "I woke up and found you gone! I was f-frightened!" and she began to sob, the fear and anxiety coming easily, and she used them to better convince the on-lookers that she was a worried daughter searching for her father. A tiny part of her was enjoying the performance- _she _had a flair for drama as well as Erik did, and she wanted to make it a successful production. She clutched him tighter, hearing the thundering beat of his heart beneath her cheek. "_What_ did you do?" she whispered into his vest.

Erik was still shocked at her abrupt entrance into the mix and so were the men, for they had paused uncertainly when the missing girl suddenly appeared. He spoke to her in the uncanny way he had- lips never moving, but his voice seemingly inside her head, clear as a bell and lightly tickling her ear.

"_I didn't do anything, you silly girl! Except return to this cursed village to buy a young hoyden apple tarts for that gargantuan sweet tooth of hers,"_ and never taking his eyes from the men, he jerked his chin at the bag, soaked with syrup and lying on the cobbles at his feet.

'You did?" she said softly, looking up at him in surprise.

"_Indeed_."

"Mademoiselle?"

Louise turned to the gray haired man standing behind her. "This is your father?" It was said dubiously, and she came up with a history for them then and there, praying it was accepted.

"Oui, monsieur. My dearest papa returned to me from the very jaws of death, grievously wounded in the war against the Prussians." She chanced another glance at Erik and said gently, "His face was badly injured in the fighting at Montmartre, and we thought he wouldn't survive." Louise cried, remembering her own father who hadn't. "It is terrible in the city, monsieur, simply terrible! Women and children starving. My father and I are alone now, and trying to find a better life for ourselves."

She let go of Erik and put both hands out in entreaty. "I don't know why you are angry with him, but please allow us to leave in peace. He has harmed no one, has he?" She sneaked a glance at Erik, and he was instantly suspicious. The look she gave him was bright with mischief. "He has not been himself since he came home." She patted his arm and regarded him woefully. "He is a little touched in the head, monsieur, and has been known to wander off. Sometimes I have to go and search for him."

Erik rolled a jaundiced eye toward her, and just managed to stop a snort from leaving his mouth as he spoke in her ear. "_Gently, young Louise. Gently. Next you will have them committing me to the local lunatic asylum, and I have no wish for it_."

Alphonse glanced from the girl to the masked man and felt tremendous shame for having confronted a true hero of France, wounded in the brutal fighting. The man simply wanted to take care of his child. Or the child only wanted to take care of her father. He wasn't sure which, and rubbed tiredly at the stubble on his cheek. It was too damned early for these kinds of problems. But he had always wanted a daughter; a sweet smelling girl, looking angelic with long curly hair and apple cheeks- one he could read to on cold winter nights by the fire. Instead, Marta had produced three young oxen, always fighting each other, and eating everything in sight just like the locusts do. He sighed, looking again at the thin girl, her eyes too large and too old for her face; a trace of sorrow still visible in them. His anger sought greener pastures.

"Are you satisfied, wife?" he said harshly, swiveling around to her, his eyes promising more discussion when they reached the privacy of their home. He turned back to Erik, who was still coming to grips with Louise rescuing him from- nothing, absolutely nothing, he sniffed. He was in complete control of the situation from beginning to end and he would tell her so. Still, observing her performance, he couldn't keep a grin from his face, to which the people still nervously watching him, sighed in unison and took a step back.

"_Have a care next time, madame when you presume to look down your swinish nose at a young lady who doesn't deserve it." _Marta jumped at the sly voice and received in return, a rich, dark chuckle.

Erik took Louise by the elbow and started to leave, but she held back, swooping down and snatching the sodden bag of pastries. "You went to all this trouble- I'm not leaving without them." she said stubbornly.

"You and a mule, Louise have much in common," he said dryly, steering her purposefully down the street. "I would rather put distance between us and this benighted town before they change their collective little minds and demand we stay a while."

"Wait, monsieur, if you don't mind." Alphonse walked over and looked down at the girl.

"Do you see what I mean?" Erik said snidely to her and waited impatiently, wanting only to put the village far behind them. "We have miles to travel, monsieur, and because of this little town _meeting_, we are no doubt going to get very wet," he said, peering at the lowering sky.

"I wish to give you something for your troubles, if I may?"

"And what would that be?" he replied, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Alphonse waved a hand at the wagon down the street, loaded with last year's produce. "A parting gift for a hero of France," and saluted the masked man.

An amused Erik, quietly laughing to himself at the swift turn of events, saluted him back while Louise beamed and Marta scowled.

* * *

><p>Late afternoon saw them well away from Melun, the weather cooperating and remaining dry, and a contented Louise keeping up with her companion. "We have more food now, Erik. More than we ever had at one time in Paris. Isn't it marvelous?"<p>

"It's difficult enough to find food in a city that doesn't have any. Melun has never felt the sharp bite of hunger," and he hefted the bag filled with potatoes, turnips, and a large chunk of cheese. Farmer Alphonse had even presented Louise with another blanket for the cool nights. Too bad he didn't throw in a horse, he thought ruefully.

They had stopped briefly beside the road to rest a while and Louise finally dove into the sticky bag of pastry, bringing forth a convoluted mess of apple tart and croissant. She held out a particularly glutinous jumble of dough to him, and he merely shook his head in disgust. "No. Absolutely not. _T__hat_," and he waggled one long finger at the shambles in her hand, "is as far from appetizing as one can get."

"You have no idea what the word appetizing means." she retorted with a grin.

His only reply was a grunt, as he took a long drink from the goatskin and wiped his mouth with the back of a hand. "You surprised me back there, Louise. You could have thrown yourself on their mercy, and they would have taken care of you, and no doubt sent you on your way to Orleans." He looked at the sky as a stiff breeze sprung up and rushed through the long grasses at his feet. He felt the tug of the wind at his coat and hunched his shoulders reflexively. "For all that they tried to condemn me for my appearance _and _my character, they were not so very bad- at least where you were concerned they were not."

She licked the syrup off of her hands, and peeked in the bag for more. She pulled out the last piece of croissant and popped it into her mouth. "Neither are you." Chewing thoughtfully, she turned and looked at him. "I thought you left me. You were angry enough to do it last night." Her gaze was steady and bright. "They treated you badly, but you went back anyway. Thank you, Erik."

He cleared his throat and stood up, obviously uncomfortable, but he paused a moment, and in his own eccentric way, thanked her for her help in Melun. "That was a nice piece of acting back there. You _are_ meant for the stage someday." He didn't look at her, but kept his eyes on the racing clouds. The girl's words were pleasing to him, but they only managed to increase his guilt for the horrible things he had already done- for the things he would no doubt be guilty of in the future. "Come. We've wasted enough time already." he said gruffly, and Louise reluctantly left her rock perch.

"I don't know how I'll ever dance again with stubs for feet- they're being worn away to virtually nothing," she told an amused Erik.

"Nonsense. It will make them stronger in the long run." he said briskly.

"Somehow I knew you would say that." she muttered, and surprised a laugh out of him.

At six o'clock, he glanced at the sky again. "Rain is imminent, I think. There is a farm across these fields just over that rise. You can see one of the outbuildings from here." He turned and looked at her, and Louise felt only relief, for she was footsore and tired. "A barn loft can be surprisingly comfortable- out of sight and dry in inclement weather." He slung the zaharta to his other shoulder and bent smoothly from the waist, holding an arm out to the girl. "Mademoiselle, if you would be so kind?" his mellifluous voice light and teasing. "We will repair to our _hotel _and its comfortable accommodations.

His playfulness was a welcome change, and in the spirit of the moment, she took hold of his thin arm. "Very well. Let us leave this place then." She stuck her nose in the air and minced her steps in the way she had seen the well dressed ladies do at the opera. She looked up at her companion, and of a sudden, she no longer saw his worn brown jacket and corduroy trousers, his shoes scuffed and dusty from miles of walking. For _her. _He was doing it for her. In a flash of prescience, she saw him standing before her in formal black tailcoat, white gloves and top hat, an elegant silk mask adorning his face. With a slight shake of her head, the vision faded as she smiled sweetly at him. "Lead on, my good monsieur."

* * *

><p>They were drenched before reaching the shelter of the ancient stone barn, and sprinted the rest of the way across the field, with Louise practically dragged along, her hand swallowed in his as he relentlessly tugged her toward shelter. The wind was whipping the rain sideways, and she was chilled to the bone by the time Erik got the door open and pushed her inside.<p>

It was bliss to be out of the weather after sleeping on the ground for two days. He led her to a ladder in the back of the barn and motioned for her to climb it. She pushed her dripping hair out of her eyes and looked up into the shadows.

"Up with you, Louise. I have no wish to be caught by the farmer when he decides to do chores." He wondered uneasily if there was a dog on the premises. Most small holdings had at least one.

She nodded and began to climb into the loft with Erik right behind her. She tripped over the top rung and pitched forward, only just catching herself. It was dark and fragrant with the sweet smells of hay and clover, but best of all, it was dry. Louise crawled forward and reached inside her coat, yanking free the food bag, also stuffed with their blankets, and Erik plunked the goatskin down. Thankfully, the blankets were relatively dry and she spread them out over the loose hay.

"Get out of those wet clothes."

She snapped her head up at that and violently shook her head. "No, I-I'm fine really."

"Don't be ridiculous, Louise. You're shaking from the cold." He was still standing on the rungs. "If it is me you are worried about, calm yourself. I'm going down by the door until you get situated." He started back down the ladder, and when his head was out of sight, she let out a relieved sigh and began working on the buttons of her bodice.

Once she was in her spare dress, she removed her squelching shoes and stockings, wriggling her wrinkled toes in relief. She looked in dismay at her right shoe where the sole was separated from the upper. She was squeezing water from her hair when Erik spoke from the foot of the ladder. "Better now, Louise?"

"Yes. Come up and get dried yourself."

Hesitantly, he climbed up the ladder to find her combing the snarls from her hair. He crouched there, watching her until she finished. "Don't you want to get dry?"

"Yes. I need to remove the mask for a time. It's becoming uncomfortable." he said somewhat defensively. He put a hand up in the dim light when she scampered away from him. "Over there," and he pointed to the opposite corner of the loft. "You will not see my face, child, I promise you." He retreated to the far side and she heard the faint rustlings as he bared his face, but thankfully he kept to the shadows and she saw nothing but the glow of amber eyes.

The girl chastised herself for being squeamish. His face was always there, just beneath the black linen and he guarded it stringently from everyone. Louise rummaged in the bag for the jar of salve he'd insisted on bringing and removed it, grabbing one of the blankets as well. She got to her feet and was nearly across the loft when he spoke.

"Stop." he said firmly.

Relieved, she set the jar down, and tossed him the blanket, then moved back to her side. "You might need those." she said softly.

Grateful to her, he leaned forward and took the salve. "There are no signs of this letting up anytime soon. We will be relatively comfortable here if we keep hidden."

Yawning hugely, she started rummaging in the bag for bread and cheese. "I feel warmer already, Erik. This will be a nice rest for us. We have food and water, and the blankets are for the most part dry." She put his cold dinner in one of the wooden bowls and placed it in the same spot as she had the salve, then fixed her own and leaned tiredly against the wall to eat.

He regarded her in amusement. "I expect an apple tart would taste good now. Don't you wish you hadn't been so greedy?"

She chuckled and popped a piece of cheese into her mouth. "How much further, do you think?"

"Twenty miles, give or take." She could hear a distinct smile in his voice and wondered at it- she didn't have long to wait. "We will be riding the rest of the way, Louise. There's a sturdy gelding in the cow byre. Once the rain ends, we will leave before daybreak, and with any luck we'll be in Orleans by tomorrow evening."

"That's good," and finishing her bread, she closed her eyes for a minute.

He felt anxious sitting in the loft unmasked as he was; he knew she couldn't see him, but he felt exposed. He could admit to himself now, that he wanted the girl to leave France thinking better of him. It was more than he deserved, but he wanted it nonetheless. He wasn't certain why this was so; perhaps because she once called him friend. He would like to know that somewhere, someone remembered him kindly. It would be a first for him. Daroga didn't count, he snorted. The Persian considered him a thief and a liar, with a killer's instinct for mayhem.

A hard shiver shook his frame, and reluctantly he peeled off his jacket, vest and shirt. Next, his shoes and sodden socks. He wrapped himself in his blanket and wiped at his face with a corner of it. The skin was chafed and raw from the wet mask, and he lightly dabbed at a sore spot high on one cheekbone. He could see the girl resting with her head against the wall.

"Tired, Louise? I daresay you will be glad to put this all behind you, but I have something to say, and I would prefer that you not speak until I am finished." She said nothing, and he nodded his head. "Yes, right. You're a quick study." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "You once called me friend. Before I...before I betrayed your trust. I deeply regret my actions that day. You honored me with your friendship. I don't know if you can ever feel that way again...if not, then I'm every kind of fool for ruining something good in my life. I-I never had a friend." He wasn't looking at her- he was afraid to do so.

"What I'm _trying _to ask in my clumsy fashion is-" He cleared his throat. He would much rather be facing four condemned prisoners howling for his blood in that blasted arena, than this _begging _for a young girl's regard. Hell, yes- the arena, the sweating, frightened prisoners wearing the stink of fear, and clutching tightly their curved shamshirs. They had sent their prayers skyward to Allah as they faced the eerie figure in flowing black robes and mask, holding nothing but a ridiculously thin piece of rope. The smell of blood carried on the sporadic winds of summer, hot and dry. He shook his death's head, dislodging the ghostly murmurs from the tunnel of years past, not wishing to hear the little sultana's light girlish laugh as he savagely twisted the neck of another opponent. "_I _won. _Erik _won, you bitch." He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. He looked back at the girl. "Do you still consider me your...your friend?" He cursed himself for being unable to keep the damned thread of yearning out of his voice.

Erik expected the girl to think about that one, but after a minute crawled by, she remained silent. "Louise?" His tone became wheedling, and he wished he could go back beneath his opera house and hide.

He spoke her name again, and when she didn't answer, he crept forward cautiously, ready to bolt. His grim mouth relaxed when he saw the reason for her silence, and he hooked one of the blankets with a long finger, covering the sleeping girl with it. "_Louise." _His whisper was felt more than heard, a mere passing of air between twisted lips as he touched the tip of a calloused finger to her soft cheek. He regarded her pensively for a moment, then with a mournful sigh, scuttled back to his corner of the loft- and kept watch while she slept.

* * *

><p><strong>I'm pretty sure if Louise would have asked him for a song or bed-time story before sleeping, he would have provided it, no questions asked, <em>if <em> she could have stayed awake, that is. Mm- a singing Erik. Yeah, that would punch _my_ ticket ;) I would love to hear him sing Nessun dorma from Turandot. What about you guys? He's taking requests-keep in mind I see my characterization of him as a dramatic tenor, so he has a beautiful range. Name that tune, phans, lol. Next up- _Two_ for the road :)**


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